Where the Skeletons Lie
by thesolitary-dragon
Summary: COMPLETE! Someone or something is calling the Third Streeters back home after nearly 15 years of seperation. Will the gang figure out the mystery despite past grievances amongst them? I changed my mind, it's gonna be a blood bath...hehe...maybe.
1. Lovers' Spat Spinelli Style

A/N: This is going to be a long story. It's going to get...well, I hope, scary. This chapter is just to establish TJ and Spinelli's relationship, how they are with each other. Things aren't explained in this chapter, but bare with me, it will all become clearer in the next chapter.

Oh, a thanks to everyone who reviewed my One-shot fic, Always By My Side, I checked everyday and rejoiced whenever someone reviewed. 5 reviews was awesome! Everyone's opinion made me feel all warm inside.

I should put a disclaimer too...

THIS IS A DISCLAIMER.

Okay, that's taken care of. Now read, enjoy.

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Chapter 1: Lovers' Spat Spinelli Style 

TJ Dettwieler stood before the bathroom mirror in his small New York apartment staring unhappily at his bare chest. He was barefoot, still wearing the sweatpants he'd gone to bed in the night before. He'd always been somewhat unsatisfied with his appearance since his earliest youth, around the time when children started to notice every little flaw in their body. He was average height, about five foot ten inches, with a messy tangle of brown locks, and soft blue eyes. At twenty-five he'd already lost his baby fat, leaving him still slightly on the soft side, flabby in his opinion. He'd gotten a slight tan from a recent visit to the beach only accentuating, to his displeasure, the freckles powdered across his face and shoulders. It was safe to say, he didn't like what he saw in the mirror.

"Morn, Teej," greeted a groggy voice from behind him as thin, nicely tanned arms wrapped lazily about his waist and warm lips brushed against his shoulder blade.

"Morning, beautiful," he whispered in reply, eyeing in the mirror the messy mop of black hair that was his roommate, girlfriend, and best friend since childhood.

"What are you doing up so early?" she demanded half-heartedly, "The bed got cold and woke me up."

"Early?" TJ laughed, "It's twelve-thirty." He pulled gently from her grasp turning to face her with a grin. He pushed the hair from her face so he could see into her deep brown eyes. They were closed. "Spinelli, we have to wake up sooner or later."

"Great," was the reply as dark eyes snapped open and she grabbed TJ's arm attempting to drag him while saying determinedly, "I choose later."

TJ laughed, letting the strong young woman pull him into their shared bedroom. He stopped only to admire her. She'd grown beautifully from the cute brat with pigtails to the exquisite brat with knotted bed head before him.

Spinelli was on the short side, always had been, standing five foot seven. She was thin, but lined with well-trained muscles, due to the fact she worked out often. In fact, between school, work, and the gym TJ hardly saw her anymore. She was still as tough as nails too, never outgrowing the bully within her. Under TJ's encouragement she'd taken up kickboxing at the age of twelve and since then had taken home 5 titles, including Junior International Champion in the Female Lightweight Division at age 14. Even now she sported a bruise on her check from a sparring match a couple days ago. TJ loved her for it.

"We can't go back to bed. You have class in an hour, and I have to check in at work," TJ argued, smiling at her persistence.

"I'll e-mail my teach and you can just call them at work," Spinelli argued.

"You have training," TJ reminded her, his tone taking a serious tone now, "Have you forgotten you have a tournament in a week?"

"Damn, Teej," she growled, falling stubbornly on the bed in a sitting position, crossing her arms over her chest, "You don't want to snuggle with me," she accused, "I haven't even gotten a good morning kiss yet. You don't want to kiss me! My kisses aren't good enough for you anymore. I knew it! It's 'cause I refused to wear that dress to that formal dinner the other night, isn't it!"

"Calm down, Spinelli," TJ cried, throwing up his hands defensively.

"It's 'cause I'm not girly enough, huh?" she spat. TJ couldn't help but smile at her fit.

"You're adorable, you know," he stated simply. She stopped ranting at that, glaring up at him.

"Watch it, Teej. Even though I love you, I'm not objective to kicking your butt."

"Alright, alright, why don't you just plant one on my lips, doll face, and we call it even?" TJ replied, grinning boyishly.

"How's that make it even?" she asked incredulously.

"Just give me a kiss," TJ sighed, exasperated, slipping his hand behind Spinelli's neck and giving her a sweet peck to which she reluctantly returned at first, then relaxed softly into it. The phone rang and the two lovers broke apart.

"I'll get it," TJ sighed, racing to the phone and grabbing it on the third ring, "Hello?" TJ answered into the receiver.

"Hello, is Ashley there?" a deep male voice filled the phone.

Spinelli had started going by 'Ashley' in high school and TJ was the last one still calling her by her last name. People thought it was strange that he addressed her so impersonally considering their intimate relationship but he didn't see it that way. To him, he still saw the schoolyard terror that abhorred her first name. His good friend who he could joke with, play pranks with, shoot spitballs with, build paper airplane notes and exchange with, and play with in a shoddy tree house built by small hands fondly christened Fort Tender. To TJ, Spinelli was a special nickname for her that only he knew the true meaning behind, like an inside joke almost. It was a cherished memory only made better because they were the only ones who could recall it.

"Yeah, she's here, who's this?" TJ replied.

"This is Jocko. Who is this?"

"Who am I?" TJ retorted flabbergasted, enraged that this man didn't know who he was but was calling to speak with his girlfriend. "I'm...I am...I...never mind. I'll get - _Ashley_," he couldn't help spitting out the name with disgust. It tasted rotten on his tongue after this Jocko used it. He pressed the phone against his chest and called, "Spinelli, it's for you."

Spinelli stumbled out of their bedroom, yawning and rubbing the side of her head. She was still wearing her night attire, one of TJ's old shirts and her own pajama bottoms. Why did she always look better in his clothes than he ever did?

"Who's Jocko?" TJ asked politely, holding the phone away from her. "A guy from the gym?"

"He's my sparring partner," Spinelli answered, narrowing her eyes threateningly.

"I thought your coach had a policy against pairing men with women for sparring," TJ replied in a know-it-all manner.

"He does. Except none of the girls will spar with me anymore. Neither will most of the boys. Jocko's the only one left good enough to take me on and still willing to do it. He's probably calling about our practice today in preparation for the tournament. Besides, matches are mixed gender at the tourneys. Now give me the phone," Spinelli explained, obviously ticked off. They glared at each other for a moment, their eyes nothing more than angry slits, their noses inches away from one another, and TJ holding the phone possessively from Spinelli. Finally after moments of their dead standstill, he relented, handing over the phone. Spinelli cross punched his arm and walked away, pressing the phone to her ear and greeting the man on the other end ecstatically.

"Ow, that really hurt," TJ moaned, rubbing his arm dejectedly. It was going to leave a nasty bruise.

"That was TJ," Spinelli was saying, "Didn't I tell you about him? Huh? Yeah, that's right," she laughed slightly and TJ frowned, watching her pace, wrapping the cord about her finger as she spoke. Was she being flirtatious? "Yeah. I guess we could practice here." TJ perked up at that.

"No, you can't," he whispered to her roughly, shaking his head vigorously.

"No, it's no problem with him," Spinelli continued, glowering at TJ, "He doesn't mind at all. My home gym is a bit messy but I can clean it up." Her home gym wasn't messy. "Yup, I'll see ya' later. Yeah. Really?" she giggled a bit, a slight smile crossing her lips, "Thanks. Three, right? Okay, bye." Spinelli hung up the phone and met TJ's frowning face with an intimidating one of her own. Any other person would have backed down from the glare that Spinelli wore, but TJ had never backed down from her before and he wasn't going to then.

"I've got an article to write and I don't want one of your kickboxing buddies around making a lot of noise," TJ snapped, "And what kind of name is Jocko?"

"There are aerobics classes going on at the gym now and Jocko's house is undergoing a renovation. We need a place to work out. I don't want to lose this upcoming tournament," Spinelli replied, "Some of the toughest fighters in the league are going to be there. But you wouldn't know that, would you...nor that I nearly got my ass beat the last spar I was in seeing as how you never come to any of my matches." TJ winced, that stung. "And I think Jocko's a cool name for a tough guy like him. It sounds tough, at least, tougher than...ah." She trailed off, readying to turn and walk away.

"Than what?" TJ demanded, not ready to let it go.

"Nothing. Why you fighting with me so early in the morning?"

"I'm not fighting with you. I just want to know why some guy named Jocko is calling you. You don't think I'm tough? What's wrong with my name?"

"Nothing, Teej! Don't you have to check in at work," Spinelli sighed.

"No, I'm not done. Now you're in a rush to get rid of me?" TJ snapped.

"Only 'cause you're being a real pain," was the snappish reply. "Why you getting so jealous all of a sudden? Jocko's just a friend and a sparring partner. We beat the shit out of each other, Teej. And at least he's there for me when I..." Spinelli stopped screaming, catching her last words in her throat. TJ hated how she did that, just stopping in the middle of a sentence that way, leaving thoughts unfinished. He also hated how she kept throwing in his face that he had failed to attend even one of her matches yet. The truth was he couldn't stand to see her in the ring fighting like that. He was always afraid when someone swung at her, always afraid he'd leap into the ring and interfere with the whole match just to defend her. But would he tell her that? No.

"I have a lot of work to do, _Ashley_. That's why I haven't been to one of your matches. If you think Jocko is always there for you, than why don't you go live with him, and date him, and...and...and...he's probably better looking than me anyways, so you'll be scoring double there where you lost with me, right?" TJ shouted, "And if he's _tough_ enough to take you on than he's _tough_ enough to protect you. Something I could never do and he would probably be a better match for you..."

"Teej...what are you talking about?" Spinelli demanded, grabbing his face between her hands, "_Better_ looking than you? _Always_ there for me? _Protect me_? Explain now."

"Never mind..." TJ mumbled, his cheeks blazing red, realizing sheepishly the emotions that he usually kept so well bottled up but was now splaying all over the place. She stared at him intently, his eyes downcast, looking for something else to focus on besides those eyes; those eyes that he hated to lie to, those eyes that he loved so much. Finally, she let him go, bringing her fists up.

"What are you saying, _you_ want to be my sparring partner?" she asked, grinning. TJ's eyes snapped up and he dodged just in time as a fist sailed by his face.

"No, Spin, I don't! I couldn't do that. What would I do? Hit the girl I...well...I...I mean, I don't hit girls as it is, but you?" Spinelli didn't back down though, advancing on him, swinging at TJ and letting him dodge just in time.

"Hit the girl you what?" she persisted, moving in on him as he backed up, hoping he didn't hit the wall.

"Spinelli don't," TJ protested, nearly tripping on an end table.

"Then say it," she told him, swinging again, this time TJ could feel her knuckles brush his skin.

"I don't want to...Please..." He hit the end of the line, his back slamming against the wall and Spinelli's fist coming in fast, "Alright! All right! The girl I love!" he yelled, eyes shut tight, just as her fist hit the wall behind him softly, the warmth of her skin permeating his ear. Spinelli let her arm fall to her side, straightening out of her fighting stance, leaning forward and pecking his nose. Turning, she made her way to their small kitchen off to the side.

"That's right. And don't you forget it," she called over her shoulder. "I'm making food. You hungry?" TJ glanced at his stomach unhappily, sucking it in.

"No," he replied miserably, returning to their bedroom to get dressed.

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A/E/N: Alrighty...um...please don't hate Spinelli's personality, I'm trying to balance between who she is in this story and who she was in the series, same with TJ. And please, review, it'll encourage me to continue rather than to just give up on this story as I'm known to do. 


	2. The Unasssuming Letter

A/N: Okay, I just noticed something I didn't like about chapter 1, damn. Too late now...oh yeah, this is chapter 2. Um...this is also just foundation for the story, it does get the plot rolling though.

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Chapter 2: The Unassuming Letter 

TJ had started writing in the 8th grade, discovering he actually enjoyed creating stories, but he was far too self-conscious about his skill to share with anyone, including Spinelli. It wasn't until his Junior year in high school, when a teacher told him how fantastic a piece he turned in for an assignment was that he embraced his skill. The teacher got him involved in creative writing clubs and journalism, though a bit late in his academic career. He found he really enjoyed it. He got involved with a literature magazine, High Society, partway through his college years, submitting stories for publication freelance. After he graduated, High Society offered him a permanent job writing articles for them. The work was difficult, the deadlines ridiculous, and he wasn't always guaranteed a published piece in the magazine. Not to mention, he wasn't writing freelance anymore, which meant they gave him his prompt and he had to write from it. He decided personally that he wasn't going to be writing for the magazine long. Once he figured out what he really wanted to do with himself, or got a book published, he would leave High Society magazine behind. However, that didn't look like it would be soon.

Spinelli had actually accomplished more than TJ, being successful in everything she'd chosen to do in life. Which was a lot. Kickboxing wasn't even the half of it. She'd discovered a passion for art, especially painting, in the 7th grade and was now attending a prominent Art Institute there in New York on a full scholarship. She had, of course, taken up kickboxing at twelve, as well as continued her dance lessons throughout high school, which helped her at all the sports she drove to excel at; track, volleyball (she was pretty good for her height), gymnastics, softball, basketball, even fighting for a position on the previously all boys' football and wrestling teams in high school. Though, for being a jock, she wasn't very popular in high school, what with being something of a bully and tomboy. However, even though several girls had confessed crushes to the ever-loved class clown TJ, and he'd endured mocking from most of the boys, he only ever wanted to date Spinelli, and besides, she didn't want to be popular, so she succeeded at that as well. She'd participated in illegal boxing matches, which she fessed up to TJ when he finally confronted her about the bruises and injuries that were mysteriously appearing all over her body. At seventeen she raced motorcycles underground. She'd taken up the drums that same year, picking up on it quickly (an instrument you have to hit, go figure) and joined a band with some dropouts she met clubbing, illegally of course, called the Spunk Punk Girls. They split up due to creative differences. Spinelli thought they'd perform better if she threatened them...they didn't. Though they'd been pretty well liked at the clubs all over town before they broke up, and rumor had it that the Spunk Punk Girls had tried to continue on without Spinelli and failed miserably. But she left them behind as though she chose to leave them of her own accord.

After high school, she went to an aerial academy, attempting to follow her childhood dream of becoming an ace fighter pilot, but after receiving her pilot's license, she was accepted into her current school and given space at a popular gallery for her work, quickly forgetting about her flying dream. That's when they moved to New York. TJ had graduated top of his class at Stanford in a common four years after transferring there at age twenty from the community college of their hometown, and Spinelli had followed him all through his college years. He felt it was only right that he do the same for her. So he transferred to the High Society magazine main headquarters in New York and followed her for a change. When they first came to New York, Spinelli worked as a mechanic having extensive knowledge on the subject thanks to her brothers, and was even offered a partnership with a young man she worked with planning on opening his own shop. She turned him down though, not interested in running a business and not in the right financial position for it. She even got interested in acting for a short period of time, gaining the role of Juliet in a community theatre performance of 'Romeo and Juliet'. She relinquished the role however, not only when she realized how many lines there were, but also when she discovered the kissing scene that she wanted no part of. Her exact words were "these lips are TJ's." After changing her job several times, from mechanic, to bartender, to security guard, to window washer, to finally becoming a waitress at a middle-class diner where she made good money on tips. She had grown a lot, but her attitude stayed pretty much the same.

TJ dressed casually in jeans and a white button down shirt, red and white sneakers on his feet. He'd ditched his red hat somewhere in Junior High when he was no longer allowed to wear it to school. He'd thought he was nothing without the usual cap back then. I still have Spinelli, he would remind himself. And that would bring him back from any depression he would sink into.

TJ made his way into the kitchen where he found Spinelli bent over a magazine eating a piece of toast slathered in butter and covered in sugar. There was a picture of a motorcycle above the article she was reading; a few crumbs and sugar particles dusted the pages. TJ recognized the magazine immediately.

"Biker's Weekly? I thought you gave up on bikes when you sold She-Devil," TJ commented, pouring himself a glass of milk.

"She-Devil," Spinelli said faintly, looking up foggy-eyed, "God, I miss that hog."

"Well, I don't miss you racing on it," TJ mumbled, taking a sip of his drink.

"Huh?" Spinelli snapped back to attention, offering TJ a bite of her toast, to which he declined. "I never gave up motorcycles. It's in my blood. My gramps, Nicolas, owns a bike shop in Los Angeles. He custom builds them. Vitto's working for him now."

"I thought your grandpa didn't like your family," TJ said. She frowned at him, finishing her toast and wiping her hands off over the sink.

"Correction, he doesn't like my dad, and he didn't like us _before_ because we were spawns of my dad. But he's old, and he needs someone to take over the shop when he kicks the bucket. Meaning, he needs to get close to his grandkids," Spinelli explained, taking TJ's drink from him and gulping half of it down. He thought of saying something about that, but changed his mind, opening the fridge and refilling the glass. "Besides, racings in my blood too. My grams won that dog sled race and my Aunt Charlotte races cars in Philly along with my cousins Tony and Rob. Is that what you're wearing today?"

"Yeah, why?" TJ replied, a bit defensively.

"You look nice is all," Spinalli snapped, "What's been up with you today? All morning you've been jumping down my throat. Wake up, Spinelli! Who's Jocko? You might as well just accuse me of cheating on you and call me a whore and be done with that. I mean, jeez, _TJ_, who spit in your cereal?"

TJ sighed. He hadn't realized he'd been so verbally abusive that day. He put the glass down, moving next to Spinelli by the counter, leaning his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

"I'll come see your tournament," he finally said.

"You don't have to, Teej," she told him, "I know you're busy."

"I want to. The wonderful thing about my job is I can do it anytime, anywhere, so long as I meet my deadline," he replied, laying his head against her shoulder and nuzzling her neck, "I'm sorry. I've been on edge lately is all," he whispered in her ear. It wasn't true, but he was sorry.

"I guess my temper doesn't help," she mumbled.

"I love your temper," TJ said, grinning now, turning around to face her, their foreheads brushing, his hands resting on her hips.

"And that I'm always so busy," she murmured as he kissed her.

"I love that you do so much," he said against her lips.

"And that I have to spar with a boy."

"I love that you're going to kick that guy's ass." He could feel her smile without having to look. "Do you forgive me?" he asked, kissing her again on the cheek and the neck and the forehead and the ear.

"I forgive you, Teej," she whispered, giggling slightly, returning his kisses. "Just don't do it again, or I'll be forced to hurt you."

"I can't promise that," TJ said, "But I can promise that I'll always be sorry and never intentionally jump down your throat."

"I'll accept that," she replied. They kissed again. "Oh, the mail came," Spinelli said suddenly, "There's a letter from your mom." TJ pulled away, looking down at Spinelli with a raised eyebrow.

"Mentioning my mom mid-kiss? What a way to kill the mood," he said unhappily, "Where is it?"

"I'll go get it." Spinelli said as she made her way out of the kitchen, leaving for their makeshift living room.

TJ waited for her, flipping through the magazine she left behind. That's where he found it. He didn't notice it at first; a simple, small, brown envelope pressed firmly between two pages, so flat that it seemed to take up no space at all. TJ practically had to peel it off of page 163 and he held it observantly in his hand, flipping it over.

"What's that?" Spinelli asked, returning with a blue letter, stamps littered over the front along with the handwriting of TJ's mother, grasped in her hand and glancing over his shoulder.

"Don't know, I found it in this magazine of yours," TJ replied, handing it over to her, "I guess it's for you. Maybe something from the magazine, an advertisement most likely." She set the letter from TJ's mom down on the counter, and opened the brown envelope, looking inside; she frowned and tipped it upside down over the counter. A small white sheet slipped from it, fluttering to the ground aimlessly. Spinelli bent to pick it up, getting a closer look. It was a small torn piece of lined paper, wide ruled, and it appeared to have been ripped from a spiral notebook as part of it was frayed. Spinelli flipped it over. There was writing on it in crayon, but only part of the message was there, the rest seemed to have been ripped off when the page was torn.

"-elli, - will - find you," Spinelli read, showing it to TJ.

"What's that supposed to mean?" TJ asked, "E-L-L-I, like the last letters of your name..."

"Weird," Spinelli muttered. They sat in silence, brows furrowed, staring at the message until the phone rang to break them from their concentration.

"I'm getting it," TJ told Spinelli, making his way into the living room and lifting the phone to his ear. "Hello."

"Dettwieler? This is Chief," a gruff man said. Like TJ had to be told who it was. Chief was the editor of High Society. TJ's boss and a real jerk. From what TJ told her about him, Spinelli hated Chief, even as she'd never met him.

"Oh...hey..." TJ said nervously.

"Why aren't you in yet?"

"I was...well...I was on my way." TJ replied, searching for a good excuse, "But there was an emergency."

"Really. Well, cry me a river. Is any immediate family dead?"

"Well, no, sir, but I..."

"Then get your ass in here. You have fifteen minutes." There was a click and the dial tone followed shortly. TJ hung up the phone, glancing up to find Spinelli standing in the doorway watching him. He forced a smile.

"Was that your boss?" she asked. TJ nodded, heading for the door. She flexed her arm, small muscles bulging, and forming a fist with her hand. "Want me to teach him a lesson?"

"No, Spinelli. I have to get going," he slipped his jacket on before turning to look at her, sighing. She nodded, her face filled with obvious concern. She was still holding the brown envelope and the torn sheet of paper, "You going to be okay?" He asked. She shrugged. He made his way over to her, brushing his lips against hers.

"I'll be fine, Teej. I'll be going to class soon anyhow. I'll see you," she said. He turned to leave and she grabbed his sleeve. He looked at her quizzically. "I'm sorry about your arm." He smiled at her, kissing her again, softly.

"I deserved it," he said, brushing a strand of hair from Spinelli's eyes. "Bye. Love you." He left out the door, leaving Spinelli.

"Love you, too," she said as the door closed. She flipped the piece of paper in her fingers again then tossed the envelope on to the end table, causing several more torn pieces of paper to spill out. She stared at it a moment before walking over to examine them.

TJ walked into the magazine headquarters and straight to Chief's office, nodding at those who greeted him as he passed, smiling pleasantly. It was only after he flashed Clara, Chief's secretary, a smile and slipped in the door did his cheerfulness fade. He looked at Chief, the bulbous balding man before him. Chief was frowning, he always frowned, and sweating, he always sweated.

"Boss," TJ greeted.

"You're late and you're dropping that story," was the reply. TJ's bottom lip trembled slightly at the implications of that statement.

"But, sir, I've been working on that story for a week now. I can't possibly write another story in time for the deadline," TJ protested, boldly. Chief liked TJ honestly. The boy had guts, the only one willing to stand up to Chief. When TJ first started working for the main office of High Society magazine, Chief refused to publish anything he wrote, sticking him on simple typing jobs and turning him into a personal messenger boy for all the other writers in the building. TJ had been, in Chief's eyes, an inexperienced, fresh-out-of-college, spineless, sniveling kid, and Chief didn't want to put up with someone like that. But by the second week, TJ got fed up and brought in a piece that he demanded Chief look over and decide then and there if he wanted TJ working on the magazine. And of course, an uneasily impressed man, Chief was impressed. He looked over the piece and published it, to TJ's surprise when he received a copy of the magazine with his article in it.

"Winchell wants something else," Chief shrugged. Amanda Winchell was the owner of the High Society magazine and TJ couldn't argue with her orders. He sighed.

"What's the prompt?" he asked, defeated.

"Small town. Friendship. Something heartwarming," Chief replied grumpily. "Crap like that." TJ frowned. He didn't like the idea, it was nothing like the stories he wrote or the mood he wrote with.

"Can't you give this to someone else?" TJ asked.

"Nope. Winchell specifically said you were to write this piece," was the reply.

"What about the other piece I've been working on. It's in the third draft already, what do I do with it?" TJ demanded. Chief shrugged.

"Put it in your portfolio," was the snide answer.

"Can I at least have a deadline extension?" TJ cried.

"I thought you wanted to be a writer," Chief yelled, "But it looks like I was wrong. Tell you what, you have that piece on my desk on time, and you can keep your job. Now get out of my office!" It took a great deal of willpower to keep TJ from slamming the door shut behind him. He knew Chief wouldn't fire him, he was Winchell's personal favorite, but this was infuriating. TJ shook his head, glaring at his shoes angrily.

"That rough?" Clara asked. TJ looked up at her. She was smiling at him, brushing her blond curls behind her ear.

"Rough? No. Why would it be rough? I have to completely throw out the piece I've been working on for the past, but its no big deal," TJ replied sarcastically, kicking at the garbage can.

"I'm sorry, Ted," she said. TJ smiled slightly. He'd started going by Ted in high school. If Spinelli could change her opinion on her name, so could he. His family and Spinelli were the only ones that still called him TJ. He liked it that way.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. Can you believe I still have to have my article in at the same time? One and half weeks to completely re-write an article. Small town? Close friends? How the hell does Winchell come up with this junk?" TJ complained.

"I know. You can't really find any of that kind of thing in a big city like this," Clara conceded, they fell silent. "Um...Ted...."

"Yeah, Clara," TJ mumbled.

"Um...are you hungry? My lunch break is soon. Maybe I could help you brainstorm for the article. Two heads are better than one," Clara suggested. TJ considered it for a moment. He didn't really want to go home. The commute to and from work took almost forty minutes alone, so he knew that Jocko would be there when he got back, in his apartment, sparring with Spinelli, his girlfriend. Rolling around on a mat with her, getting all sweaty and hot together. That wasn't on his list of things he wanted to see at that moment. And Clara was a nice girl. He didn't have long conversations with her often, just small chitchat. He could have lunch with her, a bit of friendly chitchat; he kind of needed that at that moment. But then, Spinelli would be left alone with Jocko in their apartment. He didn't want that. Ah...decisions, decisions.

The phone rang before TJ could make up his mind. Clara sighed, smiling at him wearily.

"Back to work," she said. TJ paced in front of the desk, mulling over the situation as she spoke into the phone, "High Society Magazine, Main office..." He was somewhat hungry, but he didn't brainstorm well in that kind of environment. A slight touch on his arm shook him from his thoughts. "Ted, it's someone named Spinelli for you. Do you want me to tell her you've left for lunch?" Clara looked almost hopeful. TJ raised an eyebrow. Spinelli never called him when he was at his workplace. She didn't even have the number. She must have had to dig through TJ's things for Chief's number.

"No," TJ replied, "I'll take it." He took the phone from Clara, who seemed almost - unhappy - as she brushed her hand against his in the exchange. TJ ignored it, turning to lean against Clara's desk and saying into the phone "Spinelli?"

"Hey Teej..." came the answer. TJ smiled slightly. There couldn't be anything wrong, she sounded fine.

"What's up?"

"Just wondering if you're coming home," she mumbled. TJ frowned. Something wasn't right. She seemed uncertain, distracted. Why would she call just to check on TJ's plans for after he left his workplace?

"What's wrong?" he asked, chewing the inside of his cheek in concern. "You okay? You're not hurt are you? Was it Jocko? Is he there?"

"Calm down, Teej," Spinelli laughed nervously, "I'm alright. And no, Jocko isn't here yet. I just...well I...when'll you be home?"

"Spinelli, where are you?" TJ questioned, glancing at the clock, "Shouldn't you be in class now?"

"I e-mailed my teacher," she answered guiltily.

"Spinelli, that's five times this month," he scolded her, though the anxiety never leaving his tone. He glanced over at Clara who was paying close attention to him while trying to feign disinterest. He turned from her, dropping his voice. His conversation for none of her business. "Tell me honestly, Spin, you sure you're okay." The other end of the line went quiet. Spinelli never could lie to him.

"There was more in that envelope, Teej. I just...I guess I'm kind of...well...I'm scared." Those two words were all TJ needed to make his decision. Spinelli being scared was something serious as it is, and actually admitting to her fear took that to a whole other level. TJ usually needed Spinelli to calm him down, squeezing his hand and nuzzling his ear when they watched horror flicks or went into Haunted Houses at Halloween.

"I'll be right there," TJ said, handing the phone back to Clara.

"I guess this means we won't be going to lunch together," Clara said, biting her lower lip childishly.

"Maybe some other time," TJ called over his shoulder, bolting out of the building. He raced the whole way home. It still took a great deal of time, and when he arrived at the apartment door he thrust it open and shouted, "Spinelli?"

"I'm here, Teej." She was sitting on the couch in their makeshift living room. She'd changed for the day, her hair brushed out and pulled into a quick and messy ponytail, most of her baby hairs having fallen from the tie and into her face. She'd dressed in old baggy jeans, nearly three sizes too large for her, with rips at the knees, and a white tank top with a red flannel button down shirt pulled over it, left undone. The shirt once belonged to one of her brothers and was huge on her. She had her knee pulled up to her chest and was staring at the table in front of her. TJ crossed the room, shutting the door softly behind him, and came to stand in front of Spinelli, touching his hand gently to the side of her face and kneeling down to be eye level with her.

"You okay?" he asked. She moved forward, thrusting her arms about his neck and burying her head into his shoulder.

"Am now," she whispered. "There were more pieces in the envelope. I can't believe I didn't check...that I didn't find them." She pulled away, pointing to the table where the pieces lay assembled together. "I ignored them at first...leaving them there, scattered about and went about the things I needed to do...but I got curious and it was bugging me. I put 'em together and...well...read 'em, Teej."

It was only the bottom half of the paper, only part of the message, but TJ understood why it had spooked Spinelli. The crayon letters were childish scribbles, crude to say the least, but the message was haunting.

"-Spinelli, you are best at hide-and-seek, but he will soon find you --. What's that supposed to mean?" TJ demanded of the note, then looked back at Spinelli, picking at the fray in her pants at the knee.

"How'm I supposed to know," she snapped, never meeting his eyes. It disturbed her, more than TJ could even begin to imagine. TJ scooped up the scraps of paper, pouring them back into the brown envelope, which lay on the table nearby. TJ then sat next to Spinelli, slipping an arm over her shoulders.

"It's probably just one of your friends playing a prank on you," TJ sighed, searching for an explanation, but doubting the reason he concluded himself, "Janie most likely. She's into this whole mystery, horror, cryptic crap, isn't she?"

"I don't know," Spinelli replied, lying her head against TJ's chest, "It's just...odd is all."

"I'll be here is you need me. I won't let anything happen to you," TJ told her, kissing the top of her head. She smelled nice, TJ noted, she always smelled nice.

"Damn straight you won't," she snapped and TJ grinned, chuckling slightly.

"It's just a prank. A really stupid, dumb prank," he reassured her, and silently himself. They sat like that in silence for a length of time.

"What'd your boss say?" Spinelli finally asked.

"I have to restart the article. Direct orders from Winchell," he answered, watching as she fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt. She looked so innocent. He loved how she could look that way.

"That bitch. Didn't you work on that paper for weeks?" Spinelli said, sitting up angrily, "They can't treat you like that, Teej. You're the best damn writer in that mag. The only one who's work I read anyhow." Her eyes flared, "They're taking advantage of you, always have. Ever since you started working for them. They tell you what to write and give you a ridiculous amount of time to write it in. You should go back to just submitting your work freelance."

"And forget about steady pay?" he questioned, "I make good money working there. I'll admit, it's not really what I want to do either, writing short stupid articles for a mildly popular magazine, but it's the best way to get my work noticed."

"You can make just as good money elsewhere and get just as much attention. You'd have reasonable deadlines too, creative freedom, no one to change the article plot last minute on you. All you have to do is put your resume out there and your portfolio," she argued. There came a knock at that door and TJ jumped up to answer it, eager to end the conversation before he found himself lying to her. Telling her how great he thought his job was, how he liked working there, how his boss and him had a mutual understanding. Or even snapping at her that it was none of her business after they'd just made up. He reached the door and opened it to find a tall, handsome young man standing before him. This man was well-built, obvious bulging muscle beneath the tight black shirt he wore. Dark hair falling into darker eyes. Smooth complexion with a deep even tan. TJ already didn't like him.

"Ashley here?" the man asked, a thick New York accent.

"Jocko," Spinelli greeted, coming up behind TJ, "Is it already three o'clock? I'm not even dressed for our workout."

"This is Jocko?" TJ asked incredulously, looking the handsome man up and down unhappily.

"Yes, I am," Jocko answered, "Who are you?"

"This is TJ," Spinelli answered, donning the role of introducer, "Teej, this is Jocko, my sparring partner at the gym."

"So this is TJ?" Jocko asked, staring disbelievingly and disapprovingly at the short, wimpy, unimpressive youth standing beside Spinelli.

"Yeah, _this_ is TJ," TJ snapped, "Why?"

"I'm sorry," Jocko apologized, sounding not at all sorry, "I expected someone...hmm...someone taller...less puny...a man - not a boy," Jocko chuckled, "We have to talk later so that you can tell me how a lump like yourself attained such a marvelous woman as Ashley."

"Lump? I'll show you lump," TJ grumbled, stepping forward menacingly toward the laughing Jocko. But Spinelli moved between them quickly, stopping what was most likely going to end up being the pummeling of her beloved boyfriend.

"Teej, me and Jocko are going to my workout room to - you know - beat the shit out of each other," TJ didn't miss the subtle hint in Spinelli's voice at the mention their spar, but the dark haired man apparently did, placing a hand on Spinelli's shoulder in a friendly manner with no idea how much he was going to be hurting later. "Don't you have an article to start working on?" she continued.

"Fine, fine," TJ muttered, then stepped forward, snaking a hand into the small of Spinelli's back and pulling her forward into a deep kiss before releasing her and eyeing Jocko triumphantly.

"Oh, Ashley," Jocko spoke up, seeming not to notice the passionate lip lock. "You may want to know that the upcoming tournament is out of town. Here, I wrote the location down" Jocko fumbled in his pocket producing a piece of paper and showing the scribble on it to Spinelli. Her eyes went wide as she stared in shock at that town name written down. TJ stood beside her watching on curiously.

"Hey, Teej," Spinelli said distractedly, "You still want to go to my tournament?"

"If you really want me there," TJ gulped, his stomach flipping unpleasantly at the thought of seeing the matches. Spinelli looked up, meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, I do. 'Cause I don't wanna go home alone," she told him, tilting the paper so that TJ could see the name of the town written on it.

* * *

END A/N: Hopefully you're picking up on the many conflicts in TJ and Spinelli's relationship. And, I hope that nobody minds that I made TJ a writer, I thought it sort of fit, seeing as how he is pretty creative, what with all the plans he made in the series. One again, please review, and read the story too, that helps. What you think matters to me. 

Oh, and please excuse any grammatical or typing errors. Thanks.


	3. The Return Home

A/N: Alright...yay, chapter 3...another slow chapter. I know, I know, it's going slowly, but it'll pick up. I'm thinking the rating may change later on...for sadistic-ness and stuff.

And I didn't know where the Recess show is supposed to take place, so I never mention it...I know that PeachestheFirst writes that they live in Arkansas...is that where they live? Does anyone know? Please tell me if you do.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, too...as always, you guys are awesome. I love getting reviews; good/bad, it just shows you read my story. Which is what I aim for. Oh, and I didn't know that PeachestheFirst, I've heard mention of D.W. Gavin, but never read any of his work. I just chose the name Jocko 'cause I thought it fit his personality. Thanks also to goofymonkeychild, TheNextPoliticalDynasty, and xxxBlueFirePrincessxxx...I wonder who the letter was from too...

Alright...on to the fic...enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 3: The Return Home 

"What are the odds?" Spinelli asked, making her way into her and TJ's bedroom later that night. She'd kept herself busy that day, three hours of sparring with Jocko; who walked out of the apartment later that night with a pronounced limp and a great deal of wincing; after which she took a long hot shower and spent the rest of the day painting. She stopped only once to bring some food to TJ who was hard at work brainstorming for the new article prompt (or watching TV, whatever you call it.)

"The odds of what?" TJ inquired, raising an eyebrow at her as he changed for bed.

"The odds of our cozy little hometown hosting a kickboxing tournament," Spinelli explained.

"A better question is, what are the odds of you going?" TJ asked.

"I'm a champion. I have to defend my title," Spinelli replied, then adding haughtily, "And you're coming too."

"Spin," TJ sighed, pulling a t-shirt over his head and eyeing his girlfriend as she changed into her pajamas. "You know what this means, right?"

"We had to go back sometime," she shrugged.

"No. I thought we had it all planned out. We would never go back. What happened to that plan?" Spinelli shrugged again, changing into another old T-shirt she'd taken from TJ and offering him a crooked smile.

"Our families are there. Our parents...our past..." Spinelli trailed off, her eyes downcast. Their past wasn't a favorite conversation, especially with TJ.

"Forget about the tournament," TJ begged her, "I don't want to go back. You don't want to go back. Should we really return somewhere we don't want to be?"

"I kind of do want to go back," Spinelli replied quietly, "Don't hold me to this, Teej, but I kind of miss my parents, and the old town, and Kelso's. You remember Kelso's."

"Yeah. I haven't found a place yet that sells milkshakes as good as Kelso's," TJ nodded, his eyes glazed over reminiscently. "It was where we had our first date."

"And have you read the letter from your mom, yet?"

"I skimmed it. Just crap about how they're doing and questions."

"Well, don't you want to see her face?" Spinelli demanded.

"Sort of...I even wish I could see Becky once in awhile," TJ confirmed. Spinelli smiled wryly at him. "Alright, Spinelli, let's go home. I'll call my mom in the morning."

"Maybe we can stay with them," Spinelli suggested, "If not, the tournament people will put us up in a hotel."

"My parents have been begging me to come visit, they'll put us up. We can go a few days early, so you can see your parents. That'll make everyone happy," TJ said. Everyone but him, that is.

"That sounds good to me," Spinelli replied, crawling into their bed, "I can't believe we're going back...after what happened..."

"I don't really want to talk about. Besides, that was nearly fifteen years ago," TJ said, slipping beneath the covers next to Spinelli and reaching to flick off the light.

"I know, Teej. It was a long time ago...it's probably all been forgotten," Spinelli nodded, snuggling next to him, "Going back won't be that hard."

The next few days, TJ and Spinelli spent preparing for their trip. TJ called his parents, who were overjoyed with the news that after five years he would be returning home with Spinelli in tow. They said they would tell Spinelli's parents, but TJ told them not to. Spinelli wanted to surprise her folks. And, to tell the truth, she hadn't had any communication with her parents since she left town with TJ.

TJ made certain that Chief knew he would be leaving and where he could be reached. He explained that he was doing research for the article he had to write. Spinelli talked to her teachers, and took the time off from work. They weren't too upset with the short notice; Spinelli often took time off for kickboxing tournaments, gallery openings, and such. They were flexible, and understanding.

It was early Saturday morning when Spinelli and TJ woke up to leave for their trip. They'd booked a short flight and had a car already rented and waiting for them at the airport upon their arrival. Before they left, TJ called his parents to let them know they were on their way.

"Good, we pulled out the trolley bed for yourself, TJ, and Ashley can bunk in your old room," Mr. Dettwieler said, "And we didn't let on to her parents that you were both coming...not in the least."

"Swell, dad," TJ muttered, thinking unhappily of the next week sleeping alone on the small unsteady metal frame of the trolley bed while thoughts of his beautiful girlfriend sleeping in his old room, in his old bed, most likely floated through his mind. "We'll be there in about five, six hours."

"Great," was the exuberant reply, "We'll see you then."

"Okay, bye dad," TJ said.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you," Mr. Dettweiler said, calling his son back to the line, "There've actually been a lot of visitors returning home this week. Some of your old friends are going to be in town," TJ's mind reeled. Old friends? Like who? "For instance, I ran into the LaSalles and they told me Vincent was coming in for the weekend, as he always does, except he would be staying for an extended length of time this weekend, nearly a week longer for a game. You remember Vincent, right? You two were nearly inseparable all through grade school."

"Yeah, dad," TJ mumbled, rolling his eyes. TJ hadn't actually spoken to Vince since 6th grade, but his parents still always thought of them as the best of friends. TJ already decided at that moment to avoid any confrontations with Vince at all costs.

"We made plans with the LaSalles for dinner, so you and Vincent can catch up," TJ's dad was saying. TJ groaned silently. There went the avoiding Vince plan. "Can you imagine? _Their_ son visits them every weekend."

"That's good that he can do that," TJ replied, imagining strangling Vince and silently cursing his name. "I have to go if Spinelli and me are going to make our flight."

They said their goodbyes and TJ hung up the phone, sighing haggardly and making his way to the door where Spinelli stood waiting. She was holding a heavy backpack, which TJ relieved her of, opening the door and moving aside so she could step through. She would have protested, except she was half-asleep and yawned instead of yelling angrily at him for treating her like a weak girl. TJ thought of telling her what his father said about Vince, but changed his mind. He would just have to make sure she was with her parents the night of _that_ scheduled dinner. Though, he hadn't even asked what day it would be on.

"The taxi's waiting downstairs," Spinelli said, slipping her hand in his as they made their way out of their apartment.

They both slid into the taxicab silently and drove soundlessly to the airport. TJ practically had to drag Spinelli to their gate and lead her onto the plane. They took their seats, TJ buckling Spinelli in, as she never could figure out the plane seatbelts. Even before the plane had taken off, Spinelli was out like a lamp, her head resting on TJ's shoulder. He let her sleep, staring out the window and wrapping an arm about her. It was 6:30 after all, and she hadn't really slept the night before. TJ had woken somewhere around midnight to find her gone from their bed. He searched the entirety of the apartment finding her in their second room turned into a personal gym and private studio for Spinelli's use. She had been punching the hanging bag; her forehead dabbled in glistening beads of sweat. TJ had watched for a moment, caught up in the beauty of her anger, her sadness, her graceful motions. He hadn't dared say anything, leaving her there. She'd seemed to be in her own world, on a different plane of existence, untouchable.

When Spinelli was fully awake nearly two - three hours later, she demanded some alcohol, which TJ told her she couldn't have and the flight attendant informed them wasn't available so early in the morning.

"I would like to be drunk," Spinelli snapped at the flight attendant.

"The bar isn't open until three, but I can bring you some coffee," the attendant, who's nametag read Margie, said.

"Spin, I don't want you drinking anyways," TJ told her.

"You never let me get drunk, Teej, now stay out of this," she said calmly, then turned her angry attention back to the woman, Margie, "I would like the strongest alcohol you have on this plane." Margie just glanced at TJ, giving him a 'she's your girlfriend' look.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, not sure what else to say. The woman shrugged, leaving.

"I hope she's leaving to get me a drink," Spinelli muttered, "No alcohol before three, what kind of policy is _that_ anyways?"

"You worried?" TJ asked, attempting to change the subject. Spinelli didn't drink much anymore, not since they graduated from high school. She used to party hard back then, until TJ gave her an ultimatum, him or booze. Her choice is obvious. "About seeing your parents, I mean."

"Kind of...that reminds me. We can't act like a couple around them," Spinelli said. TJ narrowed his eyes at her.

"Why?" he questioned, positive that he wasn't going to like the answer. Spinelli fidgeted in her seat, avoiding his gaze and twisting a strand of hair about her finger.

"Because they don't know about us..."she answered sheepishly, glancing over to him.

"Spinelli," TJ groaned, "How long have we been going out? Jeez...wait...doesn't your brother, Joey, know about us?"

"Yeah, that brings me to another thing, Teej," she mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, "If you happen to see my brother around town or something, keep a low profile and get out of there as fast as you can."

"What? Why? You're brother and I get along fine."

"Yeah, well that was before I left with you," she explained, "He kind of told me before we left that if I didn't stay and dump you that...well...that if he ever saw you again...he'd kind of...well...sort of...kill you."

"Oh," TJ gulped. He'd forgotten how overprotective Spinelli's brother was of her, "Now I need a drink."

"Sorry," she chuckled nervously. They fell silent again.

How could Spinelli's parents not know about them, TJ wondered. He began to think back to all those years they'd been a couple back in their old hometown. They'd never really hung out at her house as a couple. Spinelli never let him in when her parents were home. TJ sighed. And it wasn't uncommon before for them to hang out at night and all hours of the day, so her parents never _would_ question their dates or anything. Maybe it was possible that her parents didn't know.

Finally, Spinelli leaned against TJ closing her eyes and laying her hand against his thigh. "What'll my parents say about me?" she wondered aloud, "Will they think I wasted my life?"

"You?" TJ laughed, "Waste your life? You've done everything possible with your life. Half the time I feel like I'm just standing back watching you run like mad living your life to the fullest extent possible."

"That's not true," she argued, "I'm a waitress at a crappy diner, you're a writer for High Society magazine."

"But that's not what I wanted to do with my life," TJ protested, "You've always done everything you wanted to do. You wanted to race motorcycles so you did. You wanted to fly planes, so you got your license and you did. You wanted to be in a band, you learned an instrument and you did. You wanted to be an artist, so you picked up a paintbrush and you are. If your parents aren't proud of you...then they don't know how great their daughter is."

"I couldn't have done any of that without you, Teej," she shrugged, "You always pushed me to do whatever I got into."

"Well, then, I don't want to hear you talking about how you 'wasted' your life," TJ said, and as far as he was concerned, that ended the conversation.

They spent the rest of their flight chatting about other things then their hometown. They talked about work and their friends in New York. It seemed that the anxiety hanging over them had disappeared as they talked excitedly about their lives outside of the small town they'd grown up in. But when they finally landed in the airport, they were silent again, walking out of the plane towards the car rental place.

TJ drove, as Spinelli sat quietly beside him. They seemed entranced staring out as the suburbs of their youth rolled by. The streets weren't exceptionally busy, which was normal for the small town. It seemed almost eerie driving by the businesses, through the housing developments, watching ghosts of their past run by. Not much had changed since those five years ago when they'd left the town behind.

"There's a new mart," Spinelli noted, breaking their respectful silence.

"Yeah, and it looks like the high school got a new track put in," TJ replied.

"Look, there's Kelso's, you want to stop for a milkshake?" Spinelli asked.

"I don't know, Spin...we are running kind of late," TJ mumbled. Spinelli pouted and he quickly added, "We'll have plenty of time later." She nodded, her eyes on the small nook at the side of the road. She thought she saw a lumbering young man walk out of Kelso's that seemed familiar, with messy straw blonde hair and a slight bulk. He reminded her of someone. She turned her head to study him, as he walked down the street.

"Mikey...?" she mouthed.

They were silent as they pulled onto the familiar street that they grew up on, parking in front of a tall white house with a well maintained lawn. The mailbox in front read Dettwieler. They sat staring in awe-filled discomfort. TJ felt Spinelli's soft hand encompass his own.

"We're doing good," she encouraged him, "We're here aren't we?"

"Going in will be the hardest part," he sighed.

They saw the front door open and a woman peek her head out.

"Honey, they're here," the woman called into the house before running out to the car. For a moment, TJ and Spinelli watched the plump woman run to them grinning widely. Then, taking deep breaths, they swung their respective doors open and stepped out, smiles plastered on their faces. Spinelli was closest, so the woman ran to her first, grabbing her in a tight embrace.

"Hey, Mrs. Dettwieler," Spinelli greeted, struggling to get some breath from the tight hug and noticing TJ back off slowly from the corner of her eye, staring a little horrified as his mother seemed to squeeze the life from his girlfriend. Way to save the girl you love, she scowled at him.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, little Ashley Spinelli. Look how you've grown! It's no wonder you stole our little boy's heart," Mrs. Dettwieler squealed.

"Thanks...I think...TJ's...grown...too," Spinelli struggled to say. Hearing that, Mrs. Dettwieler released Spinelli and reeled on her son.

"So he has! Get over here and give you're mom a hug," she cried.

"Yeah, Teej," Spinelli teased, "Give you're mom a hug." TJ shot her a look of daggers as he too had arms thrust about him in a backbreaking hold.

"Oh...my baby's come home," Mrs. Dettwieler crooned, squeezing the air from TJ's lungs before letting him go. She patted his stomach while saying motherly, "You've lost weight. Don't you feed him, Ashley? Well, he's home now, so we can fix _that_ right up with some of my good cooking." Spinelli sighed, as TJ offered her an apologetic look.

"I brought the camera," Mr. Dettwieler called, rushing out of the house with said shiny device clutched in his hand. He raised it up and snapped a quick picture of Spinelli and TJ breathless and Mrs. Dettwieler shooting him an unhappy glare. "It's one of those new digital cameras," he said proudly, "Top of the line."

"Oh, stop it, honey. They just got here; they're probably tired from the flight. Let 'em get in the house and take a breather," Mrs. Dettwieler argued, pushing her husband back to the front door. "Come on kids," she called over her shoulder, "We'll get your bags after we've chatted."

"That wasn't so bad," Spinelli said grinning somewhat at TJ whose checks were flushed and hair was a mess.

"Just wait until we get to your parents' house," he warned.

"You probably noticed the new mart," Mrs. Dettwieler was saying, bringing everyone a glass of lemonade. "It's not as exciting as anything that happens in New York, but it's news to us."

"Tell us about how you're doing there in New York," Mr. Dettwieler encouraged, "Your letters are never very descriptive."

"We have a nice apartment," TJ told them, "That's hard to find in New York."

"TJ's doing well at work," Spinelli pitched in as TJ shot her a threatening look, "The boss gives him the respect he deserves." Not the job thing again, TJ winced.

"Oh, I have every one of your articles," Mrs. Dettwieler exclaimed, "I kept them all." She smiled proudly at her son. He grimaced. "What about you, Ashley, keeping those grades up?"

"Something like that," she mumbled.

"Spinelli's spectacular, mom," TJ broke in as Spinelli shot him a curious glare. What was he getting at? "Her paintings are featured in a popular gallery. She just sold one of them for...what was it...13,000? She's here for a kickboxing tournament, too."

"Oh, kickboxing. I remember when you took that up. Only one instructor in town and he was juggling that with those ballet classes he taught," Mr. Dettwieler chuckled, "Weren't you taking those, too?"

"Well, I remember when you sent TJ home in the 2nd grade with a black eye," Mrs. Dettwieler said, frowning disapprovingly at the young girl sitting uncomfortably next to her son, "A young lady should have her mind on other things than fighting. Career, family...children," she looked dreamy eyed and TJ groaned.

"MOM!" he cried, seeing Spinelli's eyes go wide at what that statement could possibly mean.

"What? A woman my age likes to think about grandchildren," Mrs. Dettwieler protested, and Spinelli moaned inwardly realizing now where this conversation was going.

"We're not even married, mom. We haven't even talked about that, yet. One thing at a time, jeez," TJ cried.

"I guess you're right...Ashley isn't my daughter-in-law, _yet_," Mrs. Dettwieler agreed with...was that hopefulness?

"Maybe we should go get lunch," Spinelli suggested, looking a bit pale and unhappy. TJ was beginning to understand why she'd never told her parents about them.

"Well, the LaSalles are coming over for dinner tonight, so I think we should maybe eat something small here," Mrs. Dettwieler said.

"The LaSalles?" Spinelli questioned as TJ slapped his forehead. Silently scolding himself for not taking better precautions to avoid the subject, and wishing his parents weren't his parents. Tonight? How could they schedule that dinner so soon? Did they somehow know that he was going to, at the very least, weasel a way out for Spinelli?

"Yes, didn't TJ tell you? Their son Vincent is going to be in town. It'll be like a little reunion for the three of you. Now, if only your other little friends were in town, like...oh...you remember better than me, sweetheart," Mr. Dettwieler laughed.

"The Blumberg boy, for instance, oh...and little Gretchen Grundler. TJ had quite the little crush on her," Mrs. Dettwieler was saying.

"Did he really," Spinelli replied sharply, glowering at TJ and crossing her arms in front of her chest. He chuckled nervously.

"Mom," he whispered roughly.

"Well, he never said anything...but a mother can tell. She was such a sweet lady-like young girl. It's too bad," Mrs. Dettwieler said, giving Spinelli an odd look, "Oh...there was another one, too. What was his name...um...oh yes, I remember, it was Gus."

The truth be told, Spinelli and TJ hadn't spoken to any of the old gang since sixth grade. They'd had a falling out back then that even TJ couldn't remember the exact details of, but they all could recall what it was about. It was only a short time later, after that fight that they all found themselves heading in different directions. Gus's father was re-stationed to Alaska at the start of the sixth grade, which meant the Griswold family, was on the move again and Gus was headed for his new school. Then Gretchen's parents got a divorce and her mother gained custody. So when her mother moved to California, Gretchen was dragged along; that was during the summer of sixth grade. In the middle of eighth grade, Mikey was accepted into a prestigious performing arts school somewhere in Europe. He had only come back to visit his parents over the summer, but the gap between him and the gang was already huge then as it is. He eventually stopped coming back when he was older. And then there was Vince who became a 'jock' as soon as he hit middle school and was automatically better than everyone else. He got a big head about it, and the gang wasn't there to bring him back down to earth like they used to. He eventually was scouted by a small academy that wanted him on their basketball team at all costs. So he left to attend that school during their high school years. TJ and Spinelli were the only ones who stuck together and only because of how strongly they found themselves feeling for one another. No matter what, TJ had decided back then, he was keeping Spinelli.

"Grundler...Grundler...oh yes that reminds me, I was speaking to Mr. Grundler the other day...ran into him at the gas pump," Mr. Dettwieler said, "He said that Gretchen was going to be in town this week as well, perhaps we can invite her to the dinner, too."

"That sounds like a great idea. I'll call now," Mrs. Dettwieler said, rushing from the room before any protests could be made. TJ and Spinelli exchanged glances. Gretchen and Vince were going to be in town at the same time as them, what were the odds of that?

"Mr. Grundler?" they heard Mrs. Dettwieler saying in the other room, "Yes, this is Mrs. Dettwieler...uh-huh...I was wondering if..."

"So, when do you plan on seeing your parents, Ashley?" Mr. Dettwieler asked.

"I don't know," Spinelli answered, "Maybe tomorrow."

"I wouldn't put it off too long. We went out with them the other night. They do miss you, Ashley. Even with your brother, Joseph back," Mr. Dettwieler said, "It was so difficult not to tell them that you were coming."

"Maybe we should start unloading our stuff," TJ suggested, grabbing Spinelli's hand and dragging her to the door.

"I'll help," Mr. Dettwieler called.

"No, that's alright dad," TJ told him, "I'd feel better if Spinelli and I took care of it."

"If you're sure," Mr. Dettwieler trailed after them.

TJ closed the door gently behind them, and then turned to meet Spinelli's eyes.

"We could have used his help, Teej," she grumbled.

"I know," he said, "But I needed to talk to you. Gretchen...Vince? Isn't it a little strange that they're both in town now...the same time we are."

"I don't know," she replied nervously, walking down to the car and popping the trunk open. TJ followed, grabbing the first bag.

"It seems an odd coincidence is all," he muttered. He lifted another bag only for a sheet of brown paper to flutter to the ground. He bent, picking it up and turning inquiringly towards Spinelli. "Why'd you bring this?" Spinelli turned to him, looking at the envelope in his hand, knowing all too well what it contained.

"I didn't," she answered, a bit confused, "At least, I don't think I did. Maybe I put it with our things, accidentally. I'd forgotten about it, actually."

"I did too," TJ replied, shoving it in his back pocket. They continued pulling their luggage out in silence, Spinelli heading for the door laden with bags. TJ stopped her, touching her arm. She turned to him. "Go see your parents tonight."

"Well, then I'd miss the..." she began, then raised an eyebrow at him in understanding, "No way, Teej. I ain't abandoning you to dinner with LaSalle and Grundler. Besides...I was kind of thinking...I want you to come with me when I go see my parents." TJ eyed her curiously.

"You going to tell them about us?" he asked, picking up the rest of their luggage.

"Maybe..." she mumbled in reply. He scowled at her. "Fine, fine!" She cried, kissing his cheek, "I'll give 'em all the gruesome details." TJ blushed. He loved how she could still make him do that.

"You don't have to tell them everything," he said as they made their way back into the house.

"Mr. Grundler said they'd be more than happy to come to dinner here," Mrs. Dettwieler greeted them at the door, "Well...he didn't actually consult Gretchen about it, but he wants to surprise her," she frowned at the two youths before her towing their bags through the door, "Why didn't you wait for your father and me to help?" she asked TJ. He sighed. If he didn't survive this dinner, it would be one hell of a week trying to survive his parents.

* * *

END A/N: I promise the next chapter will get somewhere...Next time, we've got a full-fledged reunion of the gang...oh, and an explaination as to why they fell apart...and will the little brown envelope be brought up again? I wonder...

Please review so I know what you think, because I write for the audience as much as for myself.

And, again, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. I look it over before I post it, but I'm always so excited and in such a rush to get it up that I miss some things.

Thanks for reading!


	4. We Were Once Friends?

A/N: Finally, chapter 4. I had a great amount of difficulty writing this chapter. I had a writer's block for the longest amount of time. Alright...dinner at Dettwielers'.

Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, you guys rock.

Here it is, enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 4: We Were Once Friends?

TJ stood upstairs beside Spinelli staring at the painted white door in front of them, their bags clutched in their hands.

"I haven't been in this room for..."

"I know, Teej. I wonder if your mom's cleaned it since then." TJ glanced at her grinning. He hesitantly stretched his hand forward, opening the door.

It seemed almost like opening a thousand memories. The room was the way TJ had left it, nothing moved, nothing changed. It appeared that his mom probably had come in every once in awhile to dust, but that was about it. Posters still clung to the walls, books and old homework assignments never finished were still scattered about, and a faithful red cap hung in loneliness on the backside of TJ's desk chair. Spinelli walked in, leaving the reverent TJ behind and dropping the bags she held on the floor, which was surprisingly clean. She looked the place up and down, walking around and touching ancient action figures, a stack of comic books, and an old photo of her and him in a plastic frame on his bedside dresser.

"This was before I cut my hair down, again," she stated, picking up the photo and running a finger along the glass-covered image. She'd grown her hair out long in middle school, but cut it back down to her shoulders when she decided it was too unmanageable at that length. She noticed another picture on the dresser as well, a class picture from fifth grade. She placed the picture of her and TJ down and picked that one up, frowning at it.

TJ joined Spinelli then, placing his load on the ground as well and glancing over her shoulder. There they all stood, still friends, though not as close as they had been. Vince and Gretchen standing around TJ and Spinelli, Gus and Mikey beside them. Around all of them stood the Ashleys, Dave and Sam, Randall, Butch, Francis, and Menlo, and other children TJ couldn't remember the names of. They had been their classmates that year...that was the year that everything changed. Everyone looked so happy then. TJ gently took the photo from Spinelli, he stared at it for only a moment longer before opening the dresser drawer, throwing it in and slamming the drawer shut.

They both turned away from it, facing the bags scattered on the ground.

"We should start unpacking," Spinelli sighed, moving forward and bending to open a bag. They went about their business in silence, shoving clothes in drawers that had been emptied when TJ left to Stanford. "Your mom really hates me," Spinelli finally said, breaking the silence.

"She doesn't hate you," TJ argued, "She's just...she loves you like a daughter."

"She'd love me more if I was Gretchen," Spinelli spat, glowering up at him, "_Gretchen_, TJ?"

"My mom said it, not me," TJ replied, "And I mean...it was Gretchen...I mean...well..._maybe_ for a short...brief...small period of time in the fourth grade I...ow!" TJ frowned at Spinelli who was once again glaring at him. The Señor Fusion action figure that she'd chosen to throw at him was lying on the ground beside his feet.

"_Gretchen_?"

"Oh, come on, Spinelli. That was kids' stuff. Back when hugging, kissing, making-out, marriage...sex, weren't in our vocabulary," TJ said, making his way over to her and wrapping his arms about her waist. "I'm with you. I'm in love with you." Spinelli sighed.

"Fine...just make sure no kids' stuff happens when she's here tonight," Spinelli spat.

"Really don't have to worry about that. If I remember correctly, we hate each other," TJ answered, returning to emptying his luggage.

"Teej...do you ever think about it? I mean, what happened all those years ago," Spinelli asked.

"Spin..."

"I know...I know...we're not supposed to talk about it. But that doesn't mean I don't think about it...that I don't wonder...or worry," Spinelli slid onto the bed staring at the dresser drawer. "I'd almost convinced myself that I could forget what all of them looked like. Our classmates...we knew all of them our entire lives almost." Spinelli raised her eyes to meet his, "TJ...I think I saw Mikey while we were driving here"

"What? Spinelli, why didn't you say anything?" TJ demanded, staring at her.

"I wasn't sure if it was him...but now...seeing that picture...I know it was him," Spinelli replied.

"So, Mikey's in town too. That doesn't mean anything. That's only three."

"Five, Teej, you forgot to count us...and seven if you count Ashley Q. and Menlo," Spinelli reminded him.

"Just shut up about it, Spinelli," TJ snapped, "First of all, you don't even know if Ashley Q. and Menlo still live here, at least, not for certain. Second, you can't be absolutely positive that you saw Mikey, you haven't seen him in what, ten years? Third, the fact that Gretchen and Vince are here the same time we are is just pure coincidence. My dad said Vince visits his parents every weekend, and who the hell knows why Gretchen is here, but her father lives here. We all still have connections here. Us all being here at the same time was bound to happen."

"You're right, Teej, we do all have, at least, one connection here," Spinelli hissed, "And even if you ignore it, it's still there. It's still there at Third Street Elementary...still buried in that damned playground! And no matter what you say, it's still the real reason that we left! It's still the real reason that...that we've always been so afraid to come back here. Besides, Teej...you're the one who brought this up. Even if you didn't mean too. You said it yourself, it's an odd coincidence."

"I know, but you're talking about something that's been done and over with for nearly fifteen years," TJ cried. There came a slight knock at the doorway.

"TJ? Ashley?" Mrs. Dettwieler's voice floated into the room. She stepped in smiling and holding a plate. "I made a sandwich. You said you wanted lunch, so I figured that you were hungry."

"Thanks, Mrs. Dettwieler," Spinelli said, almost relieved. She took half of the sandwich, and glanced at TJ to judge his reaction. He shrugged, running his hand through his hair; a nervous habit he'd picked up in middle school.

"Thank you, mom," he mumbled.

"I was thinking that maybe you two would like to take a drive around town, see the old neighborhood. We've still got a long time until dinner," Mrs. Dettwieler said, handing her son the plate with the other sandwich half. "I was going to head to the grocery store, and your father has some errands to run. So otherwise, you'd be left here alone."

"We'll think about it, mom," TJ answered.

"Alright, but whatever you decide, be sure to get home by 5:30. I'm starting dinner then, I thought I'd use the chance to show Ashley how to make a _good_ meal," Mrs. Dettwieler said leaving the room, shutting the door all but a crack behind her, and making her way downstairs.

"Your mom hates me."

0000

TJ and Spinelli decided to stay home instead of going out. They had the house to themselves, which they imagined would be a rare event in the next several days, so they took advantage of it. TJ's mother was only gone about two hours, and when she discovered they were still home she dragged Spinelli into the kitchen to start on the dessert, leaving TJ to watch television alone in the other room. It was near five when Mr. Dettwieler arrived home and joined TJ on the couch, changing the station to a basketball game noting that Vince was in it. He talked about how Vince graduated from high school and went straight to the NBA. When Spinelli peeked in on them, TJ looked as though he was considering bashing his brains in with the remote control.

"Tell me something, Ashley," Mrs. Dettwieler said and Spinelli turned her attention to TJ's mother. "You're the woman in TJ's life, does he seem happy to you?"

"Happy enough, yeah," Spinelli replied, returning to shucking corn. Spinelli wasn't very fond of cooking, and it didn't help that Mrs. Dettwieler immediately judged every action Spinelli took in the kitchen and directly connected it to how well TJ was taken care of back in New York. 

"Try not to take the corn with the leaves," Mrs. Dettwieler advised, "What does happy enough mean, anyways?"

"That he's as happy as he should be," Spinelli answered, pausing with the corn and frowning at the small mess she'd made accidentally squashing some of the kernels. Did Mrs. Dettwieler miss _anything_?

"Does he ever mention to you about coming home...?" Mrs. Dettwieler asked. Spinelli looked up at her older companion, raising an eyebrow.

"You think I'm the reason Teej doesn't come back to visit?" Spinelli questioned.

"What? No, dear, why ever would you suggest that?" Mrs. Dettwieler chuckled fretfully, checking on the chicken that was cooking in the oven.

"I guess I'm just paranoid," Spinelli remarked coldly, and then turning to the corn she said, "I'm not very good at this. Maybe I should set the table."

"Alright," was the reply, "You know where the dishes are."

0000

Somewhere around six o'clock, Spinelli and TJ headed upstairs to change for dinner, and it was nearly 6:30, with no show from Spinelli but TJ having returned to the couch nicely clothed, that a soft knock came from the door. Mrs. Dettwieler yelled to her husband to answer it, which he then directed TJ to do, what with him being completely consumed with the game. TJ pulled himself up making his way to the door and frowning at the silhouettes he saw through the window on the porch. Maybe if he didn't answer they would think no one was home and leave. They knocked again, sharper this time. TJ sighed, grasped the knob, and flung the door open.

The LaSalles stood before TJ, two familiar faces aged by time. Behind them stood a tall young man, thin and lined with firm muscles, and a young scowling face, unforgettable in TJ's mind.

"Mister and Missus LaSalle," TJ greeted, shaking Mr. LaSalle's hand and accepting a small peck on the cheek from Mrs. LaSalle. "Vince," TJ said stiffly and received a cold nod from the towering youth.

Before he could close the door completely, TJ saw another car pull up in front of their house and a lithe bespectacled young woman step out from the passenger side and turn to glare at the Dettwieler residence. She looked like she would be quite pretty if she smiled. A man, Mr. Grundler, stepped out of the driver's seat and moved to the pretty young woman's side, who was obviously Gretchen. He whispered something to her as they made their way up the paved path to the Dettwieler's door, where TJ stood frowning at them. Mr. Grundler seemed happy to see TJ, throwing his arms about him in a light hug before stepping through into the house.

"Theodore," Gretchen stated icily, "I am only here because I would not want to offend your mother by declining her offer. _She_ was always kind to me in the past. I expect that we will be civil towards one another." She all but shoved her way past into the house, leaving TJ at the door unsure what to say.

Spinelli chose that moment to make her way down. TJ had never been happier to see her. She'd tied her hair back, loose strands floating about her face, which she'd lightly brushed with a bit of make-up, a rare sight on her, never having found a fondness for the stuff. She was wearing a red skirt and sweater, and familiar black boots. She looked beautiful as far as TJ was concerned. She stopped at the top of the stairs, looking down at the older Gretchen and Vince who gapped up at her.

"Spinelli?" Vince questioned, looking quizzically at the lovely young woman before them. Even Gretchen took her glasses off, cleaned them, replaced them on her nose and stared back up in shock.

"No one said Spinelli was going to be here, too," Gretchen finally spat; turning to leave, though not after shooting Vince a 'keep-your-distance' glare.

"What?" Spinelli demanded angrily of the gapping Vince. He shook his face back into a scowl and followed Gretchen into the kitchen. Spinelli made her way down the stairs to TJ's side.

"You look..." TJ mumbled, "Just...well..."

"You're drooling, Teej," she grinned, and then glanced in the direction Vince and Gretchen left in. "I was kind of hoping they wouldn't show up."

"Looks like they're still not on speaking terms, too," TJ noted, "How do you think they'll take us being together?" Spinelli shrugged.

"Probably better than my parents will."

"Let's keep our minds on _this_ dinner," TJ suggested.

"Why? I can already tell _this_ is going to be a pleasant night," Spinelli drawled sarcastically, taking TJ's hand and leading him into the kitchen after their former friends.

The parents were all laughing when Spinelli and TJ entered the kitchen, though about what they didn't know.

"Why don't you kids go out back and catch up?" Mrs. Dettwieler suggested, "TJ's old tree house is still out there. You kids had so many slumber parties up there."

"Thanks, mom," TJ muttered as they all trekked out back and took stances away from one another. Spinelli slipped the door shut and took a place by TJ's side. They stood, glaring at one another.

"What _are_ you doing back, Grundler?" Spinelli finally demanded.

"If you really must know, I'm conducting research on odd magnetic disturbances in this area," Gretchen answered snidely, "_You_?"

"Kickboxing tournament."

"Hmph," Vince snorted.

"You find that funny, or something?" Spinelli snapped, clenching her fists, "I _do_ need the practice." TJ grabbed her before she could leap on the much bigger and seemingly stronger young man, even though he figured she probably could take Vince.

"Don't waste your energy, Spin," he told her. This act, of course, received raised eyebrows from their remote companions.

"Figures," Vince muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean? You think you can look at us and have us all figured out? I got news for you, LaSalle, you don't know us that well," Spinelli snarled.

"You've always stuck together. What's there to figure out?" Gretchen chortled maliciously.

"Don't indulge them, Spinelli. They're just trying to get a rise out of you," TJ said to Spinelli, still holding her tightly. She relaxed a bit in his arms.

"_This_ explains a lot," Vince muttered.

"Indeed _it_ does."

Both Gretchen and Vince fell silent, turning their attention away and pretending that the empty air was far more important than the people standing around them.

"This is going well," TJ whispered to Spinelli.

"I'm starting to wish I did go to my parents' house," Spinelli replied and snuggled deeper in TJ's hold, "Is it cold out here, or is it just _them_?"

"What happened between _you_ two anyways?" Vince asked, eyeing them now with a hint of disdain. Even Gretchen seemed to turn her attention back to TJ and Spinelli.

"Yes, do explain. Did you really forgive each other that easily?" Gretchen demanded, "Or perhaps you were in league the entire time."

"For me some things were too important to give up over some stupid mistake," TJ growled, clutching Spinelli for support. He'd been through all of this already fifteen years past, he wasn't sure he could handle it all again.

"And some things weren't," Vince stated simply.

"I guess you could say that some things weren't worth the fight," TJ confirmed.

"Sheesh, can we just let this go already?" Spinelli finally spoke up again, pulling from TJ and making her way to the door. "It's always the same damn fight with all of you. I'm all for a good fight, but not when it's the same shit."

"You backing down, _Ashley_?" Gretchen prodded, "Or are you finally going to accept the truth? That you're to blame." Spinelli froze, turning a fiery eye to the lanky woman before her.

"Don't you _dare_ presume that you're better than me...or even above me. You stood there that day, Grundler, and made the same decision we all did. If I'm to blame than so the hell are you," Spinelli screamed and even TJ shrank back a slight. She then promptly opened the door, entered, and slammed it behind her, stomping up to TJ's room.

Gretchen's face quickly became a splotchy pink and tears sprung to her eyes.

"Tell your mother I'm sorry," she muttered to TJ before running from the backyard and away from the Dettwieler house.

"I don't know what I was thinking letting my parents talk me into this," Vince shouted at TJ, "It only reminds me as to why I stopped calling all of you friends. This is your fault. I'm going home." With that said, he too left with hasty and even strides. TJ sighed, sitting on a plastic porch chair and leaning back. The glass door to the backyard slid open and Mrs. Dettwieler stuck a confused face out. TJ could faintly hear the phone ringing behind her.

"TJ? What happened? Where are Gretchen and Vincent? Why did Ashley come storming into the house like that? TJ? TJ!"

"I don't know, mom. I don't know why they all hate each other. I don't know why they all hate me! Can you just leave me alone?" TJ snapped. Mrs. Dettwieler stood there a moment, her mouth swinging open and shut like a trap door.

"Ah...uh...you have a phone call, TJ," Mr. Dettwieler said, sticking his head out next to his wife's, then looking baffled between the two of them, "What's going on?"

0000

"Spinelli? It's me, TJ. Open up."

The light white door opened a crack and TJ could see the raven-haired occupant of the room standing through the small opening, already dressed for bed. Spinelli had wiped the make-up off, but her hair was still tied up. Her cheeks were flushed and her bottom lip trembled slightly.

TJ gently pushed the door open the rest of the way and walked in slowly, shutting the door behind him. It still seemed strange walking into his old room. There was so much emotion tied to that small hallow in the Dettwieler house. It had been his safety, his sanctuary, his prison, his headquarters, his real _home_, and his make-out place with Spinelli when his parents weren't there, his bat cave, so to speak.

"Are they gone?" she asked, taking a seat on the bed. TJ joined her.

"They left after you did."

"Was your mom mad?"

"No. She was confused is all," TJ explained, he wrapped an arm around Spinelli's shoulders, "That was rough...what you said to Gretchen." Spinelli pushed TJ away.

"Rough? She deserved it," she hissed, "And LaSalle deserved a swift kick in his..."

"Spinelli! Honestly, I'm sick of this," TJ cried, "I sat out there, after you guys left, thinking. We have to stop this before it gets out of hand."

"Newsflash, Teej, its already gotten out of hand. You saw them out there. They hated us...they hated each other," Spinelli argued, jumping off of the bed and crossing the room.

"There's got to be a way to fix this, though," TJ protested, lying down on the bed.

"I don't think I _want_ to try to fix this. The way they've acted towards us ever since it...I just don't think I can be friends with them ever again," Spinelli sighed.

"That's why this is so out of hand, Spinelli. Whenever they push, we push back. Whenever they want to talk, we don't want to...and whenever we want to talk, they don't want to. It's the same with us, Spin," TJ continued.

"You better get downstairs, Teej. If your mom catches you up here after lights out..." Spinelli started.

"Fine," he sighed, rolling off of the bed and giving her a quick goodnight kiss. "Come with me to Kelso's tomorrow."

"Teej..."

"Come on, Spin. I'm not trying to trick you into anything, I just want a milkshake is all," TJ pleaded.

"Alright, alright...we'll go to Kelso's tomorrow. Good night," Spinelli smiled, accepting another kiss from TJ.

"'Night, I love you," he whispered, slipping out the door and shutting it silently behind him.

* * *

END A/N: I know what you're all thinking. What the hell is going on? It's all going to be explained soon...I'm getting there, I'm getting there. Some real fun torturous shit is going to happen soon also, we'll be getting into the 'horror' part of this fic. I don't want it to be cheesy, but it's looking like it might be...I'll proabably cry if it is. Oi. I don't think anyone reads these author notes...why do I write them? For myself, that's why.

What else was I going to say...hm...oh, yes. Next time: An explanation as to why everyone hates eachother (I know I said that last time, but I mean it this time. I already have it all planned out!)

Thanks for reading...see you next time. And please, review!


	5. Lunch At Kelso's

A/N: I finally kept my promise! A look back to fifteen years ago, when everything fell apart. What happened all those years ago? What really tore the best of friends apart? It's a long chapter too...please don't let that scare you away though!

Thanks to the one person who reviewed chapter 4, TheNextPoliticalDynasty...I was somewhat dissapointed that one person reviewed it...but that's okay! Thanks for reviewing TheNextPoliticalDynasty, read on and find out what one mistake led up to the hate between the gang. Oh, and 'cause I haven't thanked xXxSarahxXx for reviewing, thank you.

Here's Chapter 5, enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 5: Lunch At Kelso's 

Kelso's was nothing more than a small crevice along the sidewalk. It seemed to be a large glass pane painted with the word "Kelso's" on it, with a simple brick wall, and a swinging door that hit a bell and rang "ding" whenever it was swung open. It seemed unimportant, unnoticeable, like nothing special. Passer-bys overlooked it, more often than not, never seeing the special-ness within. To every kid, Kelso's was a retreat, a hideaway from the outside world. A place where a good milkshake, or a delicious ice-cream cone, or a ball of Beanie McChimp gum could be attained for a reasonable sum of money, never exceeding the amount a small kid gains during allowance time. Perhaps the most memorable part of Kelso's was Kelso himself, the kindly old man that always offered a gentle smile to the kids and a good listening ear should there be a problem needing to be told. He never outright judged the children, and always gave them a chance. He offered them a home away from home, a place where kids could relax, hangout, and enjoy their youths.

TJ parked the rented car next to the curb outside of Kelso's, Spinelli seated beside him. Like all things in the small town, Kelso's awed them, bringing about a respectful silence. Spinelli laid her head against TJ's shoulder, kissing it lightly.

"I wonder if Kelso still runs the place," she said. TJ turned the car off and pulled the key from the ignition.

"Let's go," he told her, with a heavy sigh. TJ hadn't slept well that night. As predicted, the damn trolley bed was rather uncomfortable, not to mention his mom kept coming down and checking on him. She had said that she always did nightly checks, but TJ was certain she was only making sure he hadn't snuck up to his room to be with Spinelli. Not that the thought hadn't crossed his mind. It had, afterall, been five years since he and Spinelli hadn't shared a bed, excluding the rare times they'd gotten in fights and one of them ended up taking the couch. Even in those cases, they ended up fighting over who took the couch which usually brought about how stupid their original fight was and they both ended up in bed or the couch; wherever they were closest.

Together, TJ and Spinelli stepped out of the car and entered Kelso's. The place was fairly empty and Kelso, or any store attendant, was nowhere in sight. They walked a length in before seeing a familiar redhead sitting uncomfortably at a booth. Farther down they could see another youth, a tall young black man sitting near the jukebox sipping on a fountain drink. Both of the store's occupants turned scowling faces towards the newcomers.

"I don't believe this," Spinelli spat. She turned to head for the door when it opened and a lumbering hulk walked in. He stared down at her uncertainly.

"S...Spin...Spinelli? Wha...what's going on here?" the large young man asked, glancing about the room and immediately frowning, "Gretchen...Vincent...Theodore...? Why are you all here?" he demanded.

"Mikey?" Vince gapped, then shaking his head back to the situation at hand, "I came for a soda," he snapped, "I didn't know that this place was off limits to me. Maybe one of us needs to draw up a rule book, a map of where they're going to be at what time so I know where not to go."

"I was asked to meet someone here," Gretchen mumbled, glancing angrily at Spinelli before turning up her nose, "But that's none of your business."

"Well, I have been coming here everyday since my return, so I have more right to be here than any of you," Mikey growled. Gretchen promptly stood up, as did Vince.

"Well, if that's how you see it. Than by all means," Gretchen said making her way for the door, followed by Vince and then Spinelli.

"Wait!" TJ cried. Everyone turned to him and he paled. "I mean...I...uh..."

"What's going on out here?" a voice asked, as a short well-built young man walked out from the back. He bore a crew cut, a light green shirt, and loose jeans, as well as thick black-rimmed glasses. The young man took in the scene around him. "You're all early," he finally said.

"Sorry about that, Gus," TJ shrugged at the young man. Spinelli raised an eyebrow at him.

"I don't believe you," she said, narrowing her eyes at him, she straightened, obviously confused and frustrated and headed for the door, "I'm leaving. And you're in deep shit when we get home, TJ."

"Spinelli, wait," TJ called, grabbing her hand. "Look...I wanted to tell you before, but you'd never have come. That's why I wanted to get here so fast, before Gretchen, Vince, and Mikey got here, so I could tell you then."

"You said you weren't tricking me," she argued, "That you just wanted a milkshake." TJ shrugged.

"I lied."

"I thought we talked about that last time," she hissed.

"No, you hit me last time," he smiled uncertainly.

"And don't think I won't hit you this time," she growled, pulled her hand from his, "Now tell us why the hell we're here, and this better be good."

"No, I'm not sticking around for this," Vince snapped, going for the door, "I'm not playing games with you, man. I don't have time for this. I'm a basketball star, I have practice to get to."

"Not that you need it," Gretchen said sarcastically.

"Yeah, not that I...stay out of this," he yelled.

"Will you guys stop?" Gus cried from the side, "This was my idea, not TJ's. I wanted you all to come here."

"You expect us to believe that?" Mikey demanded.

"No, but it's the truth," TJ interrupted, "Gus called me last night. I was suspicious at first, but he made a lot of sense. So I agreed to help him bring us all here. I called your parents, Vince, and told them to convince you to come here today."

"And Gretchen, I was the one you were here to meet...not some government agent with scientific findings," Gus said sheepishly.

"I _was_ a little doubtful when you said you wanted to meet at Kelso's," Gretchen said, sounding exceptionally ticked.

"And since I'd been helping Kelso out in the back since I moved here again, I knew that Mikey came in every morning around this time," Gus explained.

"How come I never see you?" Mikey questioned, annoyed.

"I'm always in the back when you come, unloading boxes," Gus replied matter-of-factly.

"And yeah, I tricked you Spinelli," TJ whispered to her, "But can you please forgive me."

"No," she stated firmly.

"Come on," he mumbled, kissing her forehead, "I promise I won't do it again."

"Teej..." she grumbled, as he softly traced the contour of her jaw.

"I know how to make you forgive me," he mumbled, gently pushing her hair behind her ear, "I know for a fact, you can't resist..."

"Okay, Teej! Okay! Just not the ear," she cried, squirming away from him and covering her ears with cupped hands, "I forgive you...begrudgingly" As though they'd slipped into their own world for a moment, they seemed brought back to their surroundings as they looked around blushing at their company; who were all trying to appear as though they weren't paying attention.

"So...Spinelli and TJ...?" Mikey began.

"Seems that way," Gretchen replied, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Why _are_ we all here?" Vince questioned, glaring at Gus and more specifically TJ.

"Alright, when I learned that everyone was back in town, I gave TJ a call," Gus started.

"We got all of that already," Spinelli snapped, "Why are we all _here_?"

"If you would keep your mouth shut for longer than five seconds, Ashley Spinelli, we would find out," Mikey told her pompously.

"Thanks, Mikey..." Gus said.

"Just keep explaining," Mikey snarled.

"Right...you see...when my dad was relocated to Greenland...I had a lot of time to think about things away from this place. I was so angry with everyone...well...not so much angry as...I hated all of you. I didn't know why. And I bet none of you guys can think of a good reason as to why you all hate each other too."

"Because of what happened...because they're to blame," Vince started counting off on his fingers.

"No!" Gus shouted, "Those aren't good enough reasons. While I was gone I traveled a lot, all over the world. Right after I graduated high school I joined the Peace Corp. I saw a lot of kids, a lot of faces. I saw a lot of pain and unhappiness. But mostly, I saw friendships struggling to survive in the harshest of environments. And my hate...it faded...it became sadness."

"That is good, Gus, that you can change how you feel like that. But _I_ still feel the same way. Pure and utter loathe," Gretchen told him, though her rough voice had softened a notch.

"But don't you get it, Gretch? When I first came here in the fourth grade, you guys were the best of friends, and I thought nothing could separate you," Gus went on, "But now, because of one little mistake fifteen years ago...now...because of that...because of what happened."

"Gus, we can't talk about that," Vince yelled.

"No, we can. And we have to," Gus argued, "You use it as an excuse to hate the best friends you ever had, yet you refuse to talk about it. It's not right. We have to talk about it."

"Gus...I don't think that this is the time..." TJ started, "What about...?"

"The pact? Screw the pact. What about our friendship? Or the friendship we used to have? Yes, I think now is the time to talk about it...It may be late, but _now_ is the perfect time."

--------Nearly Fifteen Years Ago: The Story of the Pact and the One Forgotten--------

"Okay kids, settle down," Miss Finster said, walking into her fifth grade classroom. She glanced about the room as every kid took their seat, and paused only to glare down the resident troublemaker TJ Dettwieler. The young boy was sporting his usual red cap, turned backwards, and was sitting next to one of his five best friends Ashley Spinelli, dressed in her usual pigtails and leather jacket. Seated directly Behind TJ was Vince LaSalle, another of TJ's best friends. LaSalle was sporting a green basketball jersey and his winning smile. Beside Vince sat Mikey Blumberg, tall, large, and smiling innocently. And beside him was, of course, Gus Griswold, who sat behind Gretchen Grundler. Six inseparable friends smiling disarmingly up at their glowering teacher.

"Why, Miss Finster, what ever is the matter?" TJ asked, his grin widening.

"While I can't directly connect you to the disappearance of today's Lunchroom Surprise, resulting in the emergency call to the Pizza Shack, do not doubt that you are number one on my suspect list," Miss Finster scowled.

"Something happened to the Lunchroom Surprise?" TJ questioned, a mock look of shock and despair crossing his face, "Man, that truly whomps, and I was _so_ looking forward to it today. I guess my stomach will just have to settle for pizza." The class covered their snickers as Miss Finster narrowed her eyes at TJ and walked away grumbling something about "hooligans" and how unfair the policy of "innocent until proven guilty" was.

"Alright, let's get started," Miss Finster snapped, "First things first, kids. We have a new student joining our class," Miss Finster announced then muttered under her breath, "Not that I don't have enough kids in here..." She made her way to the door, opening it and allowing a small girl to make her way in.

The girl was short, probably around Spinelli or even Gus's height. She wore a sweet smile and was missing one of her front teeth, her skin was pale milk white and she had long blond hair tied into a braid falling down her back. Deep golden eyes stared out at the class before her. She was dressed in a light yellow sundress, and clutching an eerie porcelain doll in her hands. The doll itself wasn't incredibly peculiar, just the fact that it looked so much like the young girl. It had long blond curls, fluttering about its cherubic face. Its eyes were golden as well, and the lips were painted an almost blood red. It wore a powder blue dress, and was quite lovely. Of course, this girl was a fifth grader still carrying around a doll, which earned frowns of disapproval from basically everyone in the class.

"Students, this is Mary Anna James, she comes from...was it Louisiana?" Miss Finster looked down at the small girl.

"Yes, ma'am," she replied.

"Why don't you take a seat next to..." Miss Finster glanced about the room.

"I see a desk is empty next to that boy," Mary Anna spoke up, pointing towards TJ. Indeed, the desk next to TJ beside the window was empty.

"Right...well, I guess you can sit there," Miss Finster mumbled, "Now get to your seat. We have learning to do."

Mary Anna crossed the room, tilting her head slightly and giggling at TJ whose brow furrowed in confusion. She sat down, setting her doll up in a sitting position in front of her on the desktop. She glanced over at TJ than leaned toward him a bit.

"Might'n I ask your name?" she whispered.

"Uh...TJ."

"That's a cute name," she giggled softly and a blush crept across TJ's cheeks.

"Um...thanks...but could you keep quiet, I mean, I don't want to get in anymore trouble right now," TJ replied.

"Oh...I don't think the teacher is paying attention anyways. This is Clara, she thinks you're kind of cute," Mary Anna said, touching her doll softly. TJ glanced at his friends for help.

"That's great...um...but I really think that..."

"Dettwieler!" Miss Finster snapped, "I won't have you dragging little Miss James into your troublemaking ways. You'll be serving lunch detention today."

"But Miss Finster..." TJ pleaded.

"Do you want to try for a week? I didn't think so. Pay attention!"

-0-0-0-0-

"Can you believe her? Getting TJ in trouble like that," Vince was complaining as the gang sat around the Cheese box in the playground during recess.

"Yeah, that new girl is a real creep," Spinelli agreed, "I heard her yapping on and on, then letting Teej take the blame. Makes me so angry, I think I should teach her a real lesson she'll never forget."

"Cool it, Spin," TJ said, entering the Cheese box having just gotten out of his fifteen minutes of lunch detention for "disrupting class". He sat down next to Vince and Gus and glanced around at the gang. "Let's not spend the rest of recess talking about that girl, I've already lost fifteen precious minutes because of her. Besides, during detention I had plenty of time to think up the perfect prank."

"Who's our unsuspecting target?" Gretchen inquired, pulling out Galileo just in case he would be needed.

"The Ashleys, who else?" TJ said, then scooted in, "So here's the plan..."

"Hi, y'all," a cheerful chirrup came from outside the box, "Why don't ya' introduce me to your friends, TJ." TJ froze, turning around to the smiling face of Mary Anna, sticking in through one of the holes in the Cheese box.

"Do you mind?" Spinelli demanded.

"This is a private conference," Gretchen told her.

"Meaning you weren't invited so get lost," Spinelli snapped.

"Oh...sorry," Mary Anna said disheartened, "I'll see you then...TJ." She disappeared across the playground leaving them.

"Man, I can't believe her," Vince cried, between gritted teeth.

"Now friends," Mikey soothed, "We mustn't judge her. She is new and attempting to befriend us. I for one would much rather extend..."

"She's talking to the Ashleys," Gus reported, glancing outside of the box.

"That little worm!" Spinelli cried, "She must have heard us talking and decided to squeal on us. Let me handle this," she tried to pull herself out of the box but Vince and Mikey held her back.

"Spinelli, TJ just got back from detention," Vince cried, "We don't need you getting yourself landed in there."

"Fine, fine...I'll cream her after school," she grinned menacingly, sitting back down on the sand.

"I guess we can't risk the prank on the Ashleys," Gus sighed.

"On the contrary, Gus," TJ said, "We'll just have to save it for another time. For now, let's just go play some kickball."

"Sounds good to me," Vince said. Rousing agreements from the entire gang.

But the days continued like that. Mary Anna James seemed to get in the way of everything the gang planned on doing, growing progressively more annoying. She also continued to get TJ in trouble, talking to him during class, passing him notes that he had no intention of reading, following him around on the playground, and even inadvertently letting slip his planned pranks for the day.

"I can't take this anymore!" TJ cried. The gang was hiding in the Ashleys clubhouse, having gained permission with a hefty amount of candy.

"Tell me about it, that doll totting gal is getting on my nerves," Spinelli agreed.

"You wouldn't happen to be talking about that new girl would you?" Ashley A. asked, sitting on a lounge chair with the other three Ashleys beside her.

"I thought you were gonna give us some privacy," Spinelli snapped at them.

"Hold it, Spinelli," TJ told her, stepping forward to address the Ashleys, "What if we are?"

"Frankly, we're sick of her," Ashley A. explained.

"Yeah, her and that creepy doll," Ashley Q. added.

"She's always following us around."

"Always butting in where she doesn't belong."

"And she has no fashion sense whatsoever."

"Hey, is that how you all feel?" TJ questioned.

"It's not just us," Ashley B. said, "She's getting on everyone's nerves in our class."

"Really," TJ said, raising an eyebrow mischievously and rubbing his hands together.

"I know that look, Teej," Spinelli said, "What's the plan?"

"First, we need to get some people together."

-0-0-0-0-

The final bell rang that day, but several students remained behind. TJ made his move, sidling up next to Mary Anna James and watching as his friends ran to take their positions.

"Hey, Mary Anna," TJ greeted her, "I wanted to show you something."

"Really," she smiled, "Where is it?"

"The back of the school, just stick with me," TJ told her. She walked beside him, slipping her hand into his.

"Just so I don't get lost in the crowd," she explained, smiling, clutching her doll tighter to her chest. TJ frowned, blushing slightly, as a few of the students dispersing from the school pointed at him and grinned humorously.

"Cute girlfriend, Dettwieler," Lawson called after them. TJ frowned, concentrating on the task at hand. He winked at a hidden figure in the crowd.

"The cat is in the bag, I repeat, the cat is in the bag," the figure whispered into a handheld radio.

"What's that mean, anyways?" came an angry static-filled reply.

"They're headed your way."

TJ led Mary Anna out of the school, flipping thumbs up to two kids seated on the swings. He led her into the gym at the back of the school. Led her to the trap.

-0-0-0-0-

"That was awesome," Spinelli cried, slapping TJ a high-five and kicking at the porcelain shards scattered across the blacktop.

"I must agree, that was a truly excellent and well deployed prank," Menlo agreed, standing slightly away, "I'm just glad I was able to get her in time to view it in motion."

"I can't believe she fainted," TJ laughed.

"That was an added bonus," Ashley A. agreed, laughing.

"I hope she'll be alright," Mikey said, glancing through the glass window of the gym, though he couldn't see the sprawled out form of Mary Anna James.

"Nice job, everyone," TJ praised, glancing around at all the kids encircling him. Butch and Francis the Hustler Kid were chatting and Francis laughed uproariously about whatever Butch had told him. The Ashleys shared a moment to spout their catchphrase "Scan-da-lous", Menlo straightened his glasses, and the Diggers shared a chuckled at Mary Anna's expense.

"Hey, you guys!" a voice squealed, while a short boy with brown curls ran over to them, "Miss Finster's all taken care of, she's leaving for the day. How'd it go?"

"Everything went according to plan, Randall," TJ said.

"Let's hope she learned her lesson. Trying to take my job as playground snitch," Randall laughed, glancing in the gym and removing a key from his pocket, "An added bit of fun," he explained, locking the gym door.

"That may be going too far, Randall," Vince spoke up.

"I agree, what if she were to be locked in there the entire night?" Gretchen questioned.

"Oh, don't worry. Hank has to mop the gym tonight," Randall chuckled, "He'll find her before six, at the very latest."

"I can vouch for that," Menlo took Randall's side, "Hank is scheduled for a complete wipe down of the gym, and Hank never misses his appointed cleanings."

"Alright, alright, if it will teach her not to bother us," Ashley A. said.

"Even if this experience taught her nothing," Spinelli laughed, "At least her creepy doll is gone." She bent down, picking up the body of the doll with the golden locks, its face bashed in.

"I do kind of feel bad about that," TJ mumbled, "I mean, I didn't mean for her property to be destroyed."

"Oh, get over it, Dettwieler," Ashley B. told him, "What's done is done."

"Yeah, she like, totally got half our make-up collection confiscated, she so deserved it," Ashley Q. agreed.

"I suppose," TJ muttered, glancing unhappily at the doll.

"Let's go home," Vince said, slumping an arm over TJ's shoulders and leading him away, "We'll go get an ice cream at Kelso's for a job well done."

"I'm all for that," Gus cried, as the rest of the gang fell into step behind them and the rest of their partners-in-crime dispersed.

It was late that evening when TJ arrived home to find his mother and father sitting on the couch watching the news. He shut the door quietly behind him, but his mother still heard, jumping from her seat and running to him, throwing her arms about him.

"Oh, TJ!" she cried.

"What's going on, mom?" he asked, struggling to escape her grasp.

"I was so worried. When you didn't come home...and what with the news saying..."

"Saying what?"

"There was a fire at the school, son," TJ's dad said, getting up and placing a comforting hand on his boy's shoulder.

"The gym burned down and the news anchor is saying that a child may have been in the building," TJ's mother wept, tightening her hold on her son, "And when you didn't come home..."

"The gym..."

-0-0-0-0-

"Why are we all here, TJ?" Ashley A. questioned, huddled beside the other Ashleys by the fence outside of Third Street Elementary.

"Yeah, Teej, you sounded like you saw a ghost on the phone," Spinelli said. There they all stood, the conspirators, gathered around the playground.

"You probably all heard about the gym burning down," TJ told them, "Well...I went to the James' house, Mary Anna hasn't come home."

"What?" the group inquired in blurry unison.

"What are you trying to say, TJ?" Digger Dave asked, finding his voice where the others couldn't.

"I can't say it," TJ choked, "I just...you all know what..." he closed his eyes, trying to find what to say, "Did you bring it, Spinelli?"

"Yeah," she told him, opening the bag she had flung over her shoulder and pulling out the broken doll, "I tossed it in the dumpster, so it's a little dirty."

"That explains the smell," Ashley Q. said, turning up her nose, "You, like, so went in after it didn't you." The Ashleys all plugged their noses and glared at her in disgust.

"Now's not the time for making jokes," TJ snarled at them, "We may be responsible for..."

"Us, responsible? No way," the diggers cried in unison.

"Yeah, TJ, it _was_ your idea," Vince said, as the kids turned their glares on him.

"We did not come here to gang up on, TJ," Mikey spoke up, standing beside the short young man whose pallor was pale, "Speak your mind my friend."

"We have to take some action," TJ told them, "We have to do something."

"I say we bury whatever evidence ties us to this and forget about it," Digger Sam stepped forward.

"Yeah, this kind of thing can ruin a life, or sixteen lives in our case," Francis spoke up.

"If that's what you want to do..." TJ mumbled.

"We vote," Gretchen said, "All those who feel we should...ah...bury the evidence...raise your hands." TJ watched as one by one each person standing around him raised their hand. Finally, Spinelli, glancing almost apologetically at him, lifted her hand in the air. TJ sighed and gave in, raising his hand as well. He didn't know what else there was to do, and frankly, he didn't think anyone else did either.

"We'll make it official," Menlo said, "I'll draw up a pact."

"And beware," Butch told them all, "Whoever breaks a pact, pays the ultimate price." The group shared a gulp.

"Where will we bury the stuff?" Digger Dave questioned.

"Near the remains of the gym," TJ suggested, "We'll bury it, and forget about it."

So they buried it and signed the pact, but they didn't forget about it.

* * *

END A/N: An odd place to end the chapter, I know, and I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible, where we get into the real details behind their animosity towards one another, as well as the emotions they each are feeling at Kelso's as well as after the event fifteen years ago. 

I didn't go into detail of the actual prank, either, for those who are dissapointed about that, only because it's not important yet.

Thanks for reading, and please, please, please, please, please, please review. I don't like to beg...but please!

Oh, and as usual, I apologize for any grammatical or typing errors. I can't, however, apologize for crappy writing on my part because that's unavoidable.


	6. Shattered Pieces of Shattered Lives

A/N: I'm so proud of myself, what with keeping up with updates and such. It makes me so happy. Another thing that makes me happy is how well my little story of Mary Anna James went over with those who reviewed...if you didn't review then I don't know how you felt about it (hint, hint) so while I can't say that everyone liked it, I can say that those who reviewed liked it. I hope y'all like how I portrayed the gangs reactions to the event as well...

To the first time reviewer, RavenForever thanks for the review chick-ee. And to my dedicated reviewers, PeachestheFirst and TheNextPoliticalDynasty, I love ya' for your outstanding reviews and your kind words.

TNPD(You're name is long...): What were you expecting? I'd actually like to know. You've peaked my interest.

Peaches: I get what you mean. It kind of reminds me of a movie I only saw five minutes of.

On with the show, and as always, enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 6: Shattered Pieces of Shattered Lives

The gang sat together at a booth, all except for Vince who sat at a stool his forehead pressed against the coolness of the bar top in front of him. Gus had flipped the open sign over to read closed giving them privacy. Spinelli sat across from TJ glowering at him. She'd said she'd forgiven him, but her scowl said otherwise. Gretchen's eyes were anew with tears, and Mikey sat uncomfortably next to her, resting his head in his hands and sighing every so often. Gus was standing beside the table, bringing them new drinks of soda. They had paused from talking and yelling. They'd done a lot of yelling. Gus slipped into the booth again next to TJ, sitting stiff-backed. He cleared his throat.

"Where were we?"

"The graveness of our mistake," Gretchen answered softly, stirring her soda with her straw and glancing at Spinelli almost frightened. They'd been best friends once. The only girls in the group, they had to stick together back then when they seemed outnumbered by the guys. They had talked to each other about things they didn't think they could share with any of the boys. Now they couldn't even exchange simple conversation without jumping down each other's throats.

"Hm..._our_ mistake...it's interesting how your tune has changed," Mikey commented. Gretchen lowered her eyes.

"My mistake was letting you talk me into..." Gretchen trailed off, she paused a moment, closing her eyes, regaining her voice before asking quietly, "Did you know they discovered it was arson."

"Huh?" TJ stared at her, "What do you mean?"

"The building was burned down on purpose, someone purposely lit it on fire," she explained, pushing her glasses up with her thumb, tears splashing on the tabletop, "I don't know about you, but I for one followed the story. I kept hoping that Mary Anna would show up. She never did. Her parents..." she trailed off, overcome with sobs, "I don't know who to blame," she cried, giving in to her sorrow, "Was it TJ, who came up with the plan and led her there? Spinelli, who played the biggest role in the plan and caused her to faint? Vince, who helped Spinelli? Gus, who made sure everything went according to plan and set everything up? Was it Mikey, who never spoke out against it and even lent a helping hand? Was it...was it...was it me? Was it one of the other kids who helped out? Or was it the one who lit the building on fire?"

"I didn't do anything," Vince shouted from the bar, "I stood there with Spinelli and told her when they were in place. That's all." He turned his glare to the booth where they all sat, a knot in his throat, "I didn't do...I didn't..."

"Maybe it is my fault," TJ muttered, staring at his hands laid on the table, "It was my plan...I just wanted her to...I don't know...it wasn't that I didn't like her...she just..."

"Finally he admits to it," Vince spat, "If it wasn't for you, TJ..."

"It's not TJ's fault!" Spinelli snapped, jumping up as best she could at the booth table, "Cut it out, Teej. It ain't your fault. You had no way of knowing that things would end up like that."

"Always sticking up for him," Vince laughed sardonically, "You sure stuck up for him then, too. Or maybe you wanted her to faint Spinelli, so you could go back later and..."

"Hey!" TJ shouted, pushing his way past Gus to stand in front of Vince, "Spinelli didn't do anything, you...you bastard. You can place the blame on me, I don't give a damn, but don't start accusing her of things or I'll..."

"Or you'll what?" Vince asked, standing up to his full height and glowering angrily down at TJ.

"You think I'm scared of you?" TJ demanded, clenching his fists.

"Hey!" Gus cried from the table, "Will you cut it out? The last thing we need is you two beating the crap out of each other and destroying Kelso's." The two young men looked away from one another, loosening slightly.

"She wasn't on your side back then, you know," Vince whispered to TJ, "Spinelli was on my side, blaming you."

TJ turned away, crossing the room to a candy stand, but he couldn't see the candy stacked neatly on it; his vision blurred with rage. He caught his reflection in the windowpane as Vince's words sank in. Spinelli was supporting him now. She was on his side now. He stared for a long time, convincing himself that that was the truth and that that was all that mattered. Even if the truth was he had even started blaming himself for what happened long ago. That's why he stopped coming up with plans. He began to dread what would happen if he ever saw a plan through again. That gleam that came to his eyes, that smile that crossed his lips...that mischievous smile, they were gone. How Spinelli still wanted to be around him was beyond his understanding. The very fact that she wanted to be with him, a "lump" as Jocko had so well put it, was hard enough to swallow. But TJ the hideous lump that got a little girl killed? TJ, who can't even look himself in the mirror sometimes, let alone meet the eyes of his girlfriend? TJ, who couldn't express his real feelings then, or now? Yes, TJ, what a prince, unattractive, out-of-shape, freckle-faced, weakling, afraid to even face himself, let alone the world. TJ. Theodore Jasper Dettwieler, a real lady-killer. The truth was, he wasn't afraid that Spinelli might blame him. He was afraid that she didn't blame him and that when she realized the truth that it was entirely his fault that she wouldn't want to be with him anymore. After all, who would want to be with a murderer?

"We all blame each other," Gus sighed, "Someone else...anyone else but ourselves is responsible, right?"

"That's not it..." Spinelli muttered, laying her head down on the table. She had hated Mary Anna in a way she couldn't understand, even so far as having wanted to beat the snot out of her every time that stupid blonde southern bell talked to TJ or giggled or made TJ blush...yeah, Spinelli noticed that, but she never wanted what happened to happen. It left Spinelli confused. She didn't know what to trust anymore or who. TJ's plans had never failed her before, never left anyone so hurt. _TJ_ had never let her down before. But for all his planning, all his charm, all his careful attention to detail, he'd failed to see the greatest flaw in his plan, the possible consequences of his actions. She loved him so much that she was afraid of what the truth may be. That he could be to blame for what happened, not entirely, but mostly. If it weren't for TJ's plan, Mary Anna wouldn't have been in the gym that day after school. If TJ hadn't brought them all together, Randall wouldn't have been there to lock the door. If...if...if...she hated that word. It made no sense to say "if". Spinelli was a realist. What happened, well, happened, and it's in the past. No amount of "if's" could change that. All that was left was responsibility now, blame. Who was to blame for what happened? She had blamed TJ. She'd stood beside Vince, even though for once, she had held her tongue in the matter and let them do the fighting and finger pointing. She had never outright told TJ that she'd felt it was his fault, because in a big way, it all confused her. But mostly, sitting there at that booth, glancing at TJ from the corner of her eye, she was afraid that she still blamed him.

"Then what is it, Spinelli?" TJ questioned silently, apathetically, as he reached out to pick up a candy bar as though to read the ingredients, but never even seeing the words.

"Yeah, Spinelli," Vince said, "Who's fault do you think it is?"

"We're not going to do this again, are we?" Gretchen spoke up, "You blame TJ, Vince. TJ blames himself. Mikey blames everyone. Gus blames no one. I don't know who to blame, and Spinelli...who _cares_ who she blames. Who cares who any of us blame? In the end, Mary Anna is still dead."

"Gretchen..." Gus sputtered, "I don't think you should say..."

"What?" Gretchen demanded, "She is dead. You know, dead? Do you not understand? She is dead, dead, dead, mort, mortem, dood, tot, guasto, muerto, D-E-A-D, dead! Not saying it does not make it untrue. She's gone, never coming back, dead."

They all fell silent once more, letting that rant sink in, Gretchen's wracked sobs the only noise in the small building. She buried her head in her arms, crying uncontrollably. She had, frankly, given up after Mary Anna's death. Given up on everything that didn't make sense, hiding herself in science, the only thing that did make sense. She was so eager to leave her small hometown behind after it happened, so eager to escape what didn't make sense. How could you be here one moment and then gone the next? How could a little girl's life just end like that when the life expectancy of an American female was somewhere around sixty years? Shouldn't she have lived another fifty years? Old people died, not little girls. People who have lived long lives, who have done everything they found worth doing already. Children didn't really ever die. Weren't they invulnerable? Untouchable by the Grim Reaper? Well, _why weren't they_? It had to be a harsh and cruel world to allow such things as children dying to happen. Then why did her parents always tell her growing up that the world was wonderful and full of endless possibilities? Why did they lie to her? Why couldn't life be like science, where all the numbers added up? Science, where two plus two always equaled four, there were no exceptions. Science, where logic was leader, where numbers always added up, where outcomes could be tested and predicted. Science, where things made sense.

"I know what it means to be dead," Gus finally said indignantly, "I saw a great deal of death when I traveled with the Peace Corp...I saw a terrorist bomb explode killing three citizens, men I'd befriended, when I was in Turkey."

"But it's different," Gretchen sobbed, "Mary Anna was a child...we were children...we were involved in her death."

"Shut up, Gretchen!" Vince snapped, "Just shut up..." He slammed his fist against the bar and turned his back on them. It was all he could think of to do. It's what he did when it all happened. He turned his back on them, putting the fault completely on TJ and turning on the gang for not doing the same. Before, Spinelli had been on his side, backing him silently. She'd told him she felt the same, that TJ was at fault. But now...now she was with TJ, the one responsible for everything. It had to be TJ's fault, it _all_ had to be his fault. If it wasn't, then that would make it Vince's fault too...and he couldn't be the one to blame. He had too much going for him, too much potential for something like this to be his responsibility. But then why did it hurt, why did he feel - guilty? -- standing here talking about it like this...or fighting, which was what they were really doing? Why did it hurt when he yelled at TJ, when he blamed TJ? And why did it hurt so much, having everything he did; his place in the NBA, his title of MVP, his money, his house, his college scholarship that he never used, his Viper, his fans, everything, and still knowing that Spinelli was with TJ? As though, even in the end, even with it being TJ's fault, he still won. Was it because the only person who backed Vince, the one person who was on his side, had left him to be with TJ, the one he was against? Vince had spent most of his youth angry, angry with everyone, but especially at TJ. He felt, in a way, that his best friend had betrayed him. That TJ had let him down. That TJ had exposed him to something a kid shouldn't have been exposed to. That TJ had lit his world, his beliefs, and his happiness on fire and gleefully watched it burn down. And Vince had been angry at the world too, for letting him down and crushing his childish beliefs with harsh reality, and that only fueled his athletic spirit, driving him to compete harder. He'd had thirty fouls in one game once, yet his team still won because he scored nearly forty-three points. Anger suited him. And he could be angry with everyone, the entire gang; Gretchen, Gus, Mikey, TJ, and Spinelli. But if anger suited him, why did his stomach twist with an emotion other than anger when he sat here with the old gang like this...and why did it hurt so much when he saw TJ and Spinelli together the way they were?

"It's bitterly ironic," Mikey whispered snidley, "Almost poetic."

"How's that," Gretchen blubbered, the only one who really heard him. Mikey sighed, slipping out of the booth dramatically. According to Mikey, he wasn't at fault. There was no possible way that he, who held life so dear and precious, could be involved in the demise of a classmate. She had been a young flower, destroyed in her prime, by angry and vengeful barbarians, misunderstanding her pure intentions. To Mikey, you had to be truly evil to bring about another's death, and as far as Mikey was concerned, he wasn't evil, so he couldn't be responsible. There was no possible way. His former friends, however, he wasn't entirely sure were good. They had to be the ones to blame, which made them evil. And he could not, in his mind, vouch for them otherwise. Through his perception, they all transformed. TJ, who had once been nothing more than a goofy monkey child spreading joy with his cheerful pranks became a conniving imp whose mind was filled with dark and sinister plots. Gretchen, who Mikey had once thought her knowledge was only matched by the wisdom she possessed beyond her meager years became a twisted and mad scientist intent on the destruction of mankind motivated by her naiveté. Gus, who'd once been a kind and gentle, soft-spoken soul, became a heartless fiend incapable of caring for others around himself. Vince, who'd been a dedicated and loyal friend and athlete, commendable in all aspect became an oafish smut of a backstabber. And Spinelli who Mikey once thought of as strong and powerful, a champion of the small and helpless became a dirt-bag bully with no sense of justice. Mikey was the one who was right and they were in the wrong. As far as he was concerned, they hadn't listened to him and his preaching about thinking of others. He believed, truly, that he had spoken out against what happened to Mary Anna, and that his friends had simply refused to listen. Yes, that was it. That had to be it. Because he was a good person incapable of even comprehending the very nature of evil, and they were tainted, unable to redeem themselves in his eyes.

"You strove to hurt another," Mikey explained, "All of you did. You wanted her to suffer, and so, in the greatest of irony, _you_ all became the ones to suffer, as she rests in peace."

"Humph," Spinelli snorted, "It's so easy for you to separate yourself from us, huh, Mikey? You're on such a moral high ground, the world itself would end should you commit even the smallest sin."

"Or perhaps it's because I can tell the difference between right and wrong," Mikey stated simply, "That puts me on a different level than you, Ashley. The very fact that I have morals, makes me different than you."

"Hey, Mikey, your morals telling you to shut up yet?" Spinelli questioned spitefully, leaning towards the lumbering youth with her fist clenched in front of her.

"Um..." Mikey gulped.

"Always with your sarcasm, Spinelli," Gretchen whispered harshly, "You think that will protect you from everything. That's what _you_ think separates _you_ from _us_, your cynical point of view. Nothing is your fault so long as you can pretend you don't give a damn. You can't be blamed for what you had no real interest for in the first place."

"Yeah, and what you can't find a sarcastic remark for, you threaten or insult," Gus agreed.

"You haven't changed at all," Gretchen went on, "I want to rip that mask off your face, like last night when you were all dressed up nice, even though I could still see the ugliness beneath. You're not a woman, Spinelli, you're hardly a girl. You're still the tomboy from grade school, with scrapes on both her knees and a curled snarl on her lips."

"Get me out of here," Spinelli snapped, pulling herself onto the tabletop, walking across it and jumping to the ground, not wanting to give Gretchen the dignity of having to ask her to move, "You people can't analyze me like this and I'm not sticking around to play the blame game again. I'm out of here. If you really want this punishment, Teej, than stay. But I'm done, I've had enough of this trip down memory lane." No one had the chance to stop her as she flung the door open and left.

"Damn it," TJ muttered watching in anguish as Spinelli kicked their rented car than stomped off down the street. He wanted to chase after her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Vince made his way to the door, taking a moment to glower at everyone still in the building.

"I have places to be," he said quietly before turning and leaving in the same direction Spinelli left, probably headed home. Gretchen pushed her way out of the booth, as well, letting out an exasperated breath of air.

"First that cryptic letter and now this," Gretchen mumbled, straightening her skirt. TJ's ears perked up at that.

"What cryptic letter?" he asked, turning to face her.

"Is that really any of your business?"

"No. Was it in a brown envelope?" TJ continued. Gretchen raised an eyebrow at him.

"How did you...?" But before she could finish TJ had produced from his back pocket the brown envelope that Spinelli had received.

"Hey, I got one of those too," Gus said, almost excitedly.

"As did I," Mikey stated.

"Why do I have a strange feeling about this...?" TJ muttered, clutching the brown envelope in his hand miserably.

* * *

END A/N: I know...short...I hate that it's so short. But I love all the emotions spewing all over the place. I'm getting to the blood and gore and horror, I promise...It's coming...I'm getting there, I'm getting there. So you don't have to wait this long in a Stephen King novel, big bloody deal.

And my advice for the day, "If you don't have anything nice to say, watch who you talk to." Please review. I want your opinions, dammit! If you have no opinion, then you are a boring person. And cruel too. You get me all excited thinking that I'll have feedback on my story and then crushing my happiness because no one reviewed...so sad...sniffles...Do you want me to be sad? I guess I write better like that...NO! I take that back, review.

And if you read all of that...

Please overlook any grammatical and typing errors. And thanks for reading.


	7. Ice Cream, Coffee, and Laughter

* * *

A/N: Okay, this chapter took it's time getting up...but I got it up so there! I feel I should explain the title of the chapter, because it did take me a good deal of time to come up with and it doesn't seem to fit. Basically, ice cream, coffee and laughter are the three best cures for misery. In this chapter, we get to see a few of Spinelli's own insecurities about her relationship with TJ and a little insight on the mysterious letters.

Thanks to all my reviewers for your wonderfulness. xXsSarahxXx, thanks for showing up again on my reviews, that rocks of you. I don't know if _I'd_ go so far as saying my fanfic is one of the best...but you can say that as much as you want...it flatters me so. And so you all know, I'm going to be changing the rating to "R", because I feel a few of the things that will be coming up are not suited for pg-13 anymore.

Now...I feel like I'm forgetting something...but anyways, read on and enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 7: Ice Cream, Coffee, and Laughter

Stupid jerks. Spinelli walked along the street, kicking at the gravel, the hot sun beating down on her. She pulled her hair up off her neck with her hand, glaring scathingly at the ground. She was _so_ going to hurt TJ when he got home. How could he put her through that? She stopped, touching her cheek. It was damp. She'd thought it was sweat at first, but her mind reeled in realization as she slammed her fist into the wall out of frustration, splitting her knuckle open. Tears. She should have known. Only TJ could make her cry. It must be his gift, Spinelli thought bitterly, watching the blood gush out down her hand. She slumped on the curb, burying her head in her knees and trying to stop the tears from flooding down her cheeks. Gretchen had gone too far with that crap about how she was hardly a girl.

Spinelli couldn't help it. Being tomboyish, being tough, being...herself. She wasn't girly, and that was just how it was. TJ didn't mind -- did he? No. She snapped her head up. TJ loved her. Now if only he were here to tell her that. She leaned back to look at the sky, grimacing as she put her weight on her sore hand, blood still streaming to the ground. Maybe he felt obligated to be with her, since they'd been together for so long, and because she'd supported him through everything he'd done. College, writing, the magazine (despite her detest for it and its treatment of TJ), and most importantly, his choice to leave their small hometown as soon as possible. Maybe TJ really did want someone more feminine, more beautiful and sexy. Maybe he wanted someone who would wear lovely gowns, get dressed up, curl her hair, powder on make-up, slap him softly when they fought instead of punching him in the gut. Someone like Mary Anna James.

Spinelli closed her eyes. Mary Anna James. That was a name she hadn't heard in a long time. Sometimes, she could forget completely what happened. Forget that perfect face, forget that haunting doll, and forget that she ever had a life outside of New York. But then, something would happen to remind her, pull her back to the reality of who she was. Pretty little Mary Anna James, she could take TJ by the hand, walk briskly down the hall beside him, could tell him what she thought without reluctance or doubt. Could make TJ blush with a smile. The personification of what a girl should be. Carrying around a doll, delicate and prim. TJ was too young then, too much like a little boy, but now? Would he want to be with Mary Anna James if she was around and showed that kind of interest in him now? Spinelli chewed her lower lip in frustration. Was she glad that Mary Anna James was dead? She opened her eyes and her vision was filled with Vince's face staring down at her.

"Spinelli?" He questioned. She jumped to her feet, nearly colliding with him and made to run off when he grabbed her arm. "Wait, I want to talk."

"Like hell..." she snapped, "What makes you think I want to talk to you?" But she stopped struggling against him, staring him down. He had a strong hold.

"Well," Vince started, "I didn't ask if you wanted to talk."

"Very persuasive argument, LaSalle," Spinelli spat.

"I just want to know, who's fault do you think it is?" he asked, "Just answer me."

"Let go of my arm, Vince," she sneered.

"Not until you say it. No one is around, Spinelli. No one's going to hear, just me," Vince said, "I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me who you think is to blame for Mary Anna. Tell me. No one will know but me and you."

"Why is it so important to you?" she shot back, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I don't know. I just need to hear you say it," he answered.

"Why is it so goddamned important to you, LaSalle?" she screamed. He lowered his eyes, shrugging. "You want me to say I blame TJ, don't you," she questioned, "Right?" He was silent. She tugged her arm from his grasp.

"I want to know why you're on his side," Vince said quietly.

"It's my duty," she said derisively, "What with being his girlfriend and all." He locked his eyes with hers, holding her with his intense gaze.

"You were on my side once," he whispered, "I don't see why you're not still on my side. How could your feelings change so much?"

"They didn't have far to change," she growled, "I'd had a crush on, TJ even back then. But I guess you didn't know that...even Gretchen didn't know." Vince looked away, moving away and rubbing the back of his head.

"I'd have thought that...what with the circumstances..._you_ _blamed TJ before_," he stuttered, trying to convince her of - of something.

"I'm gone," she muttered, turning to walk away. He grabbed her arm again, spinning her to face him with a tight clench.

"No," he commanded, "Not until you say it."

"You're treading dangerous ground," Spinelli warned, tightening her hand into a fist, "If you think I'm gonna turn on Teej you got another thing coming."

"Then tell me something," Vince hissed, "If he loves and cares for you so much, why isn't he here with you? Why isn't he here to make you feel better? Why isn't he here comforting you? Why didn't he chase you out of the store?" Vince didn't have the time to react as Spinelli's fist sailed into his stomach. He doubled over, gasping for air.

"'Cause he's apparently smarter than you," she whispered in his ear. Vince released her arm and she turned, walking away.

"It's his fault, Spinelli," Vince gasped, calling after her, "You know it is. You do still blame him. You can't fool me, Spinelli, I know you better than that."

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli sighed. She didn't want to go back to the Dettwielers' House; they would ask her too many questions. Where's TJ? Why'd you walk home? Are you two fighting again? And then, Mrs. Dettwieler's hopeful face as she asks, "Are you two breaking up?" Spinelli stopped at the convenience store, making her way in. She could buy some ice cream what with still being pretty upset. She found her way to the frozen foods section with no trouble. She was surprised she still remembered the layout of the store and that it hadn't changed much from when she was younger. She hadn't been in it for nearly five years. But then again, it really didn't surprise her. This was where her parent's and her had run into Miss Finster, landing Spinelli a weekend at the wiry old woman's home. This was where her mother would send her on errands when she first got her drivers' license, not that the store wasn't within walking distance. This was where TJ had come, while Spinelli waited anxiously outside, on Prom night looking to buy a condom only to discover the checkout boy was Lawson and chickening out. They had ended up playing board games all night with his older sister Becky at her apartment.

Spinelli scanned the ice cream selection. Black cherry? No, not good enough for being upset, more for anger. Vanilla? Too bland, more of a celebration treat, not the right flavor for misery. Chocolate? Not enough, but close. Double chocolate mint? Too mint-y, which would be just right if she were depressed over being fat or ugly. Triple chocolate with chocolate chunks? Perfect. She reached into the freezer and pulled the pint-sized carton out. Now all she needed was a plastic spoon and she'd be set.

"You, like, have so much potential," Spinelli heard a squeal as four young women walked into the frozen foods section. Accordingly, Spinelli froze. Unmistakable was the only word she could conjure up to describe the women. The one talking had a brown bob cut and was wearing a blue sundress. She was addressing a tall blonde wearing sunglasses, jeans, and deep pink lipstick. They were followed by a short thin black woman wearing a yellow tank top and baggy jeans and a voluptuous dark skinned woman clutching a green purse that matched her pantsuit. The Ashleys were in town?

"I know," was the reply. Spinelli turned, covering her face and slipping out of the aisle, the women too preoccupied with chatting to notice her. As she rounded the corner, she glanced over her shoulder, and bumped into someone.

"Would you watch where you're going?" a young man snapped, holding a cell phone to his ear and talking rapidly. She looked the man up and down. Hair slicked back, nice suit, brown trench coat.

"Frankie?" she questioned.

"Huh...what? Could you hold on a moment?" the man said, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand and looking at the young woman in front of him grasping her pint of ice cream and staring confused at him. "Who...Ashley?" Before she could react he threw his arms about her. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Been in town four hours and haven't seen anyone I knew."

"What are you doing here?" Spinelli asked, struggling from his grasp.

"Investigating a piece of merchandise. I'm a buyer and seller of rare, unique, antique relics," he explained, "My seller, however, says they won't be able to show me the piece for another few days. Can you believe that?"

"I'm...trying..." Spinelli gaped at him. They'd been close in middle school; before she'd made amends with TJ and started dating him she had needed someone to rely on. He was there for her. Francis glanced at the ice cream in her hands and frowned.

"What's the matter?" he questioned, meeting her eyes. Spinelli shrugged, picking at the wrapper on the ice cream. "Triple chocolate _with_ chocolate chunks...that bad, huh?" He lifted the cell phone back up to his ear, "I'll call you back, something important just came up," he said to the person on the other end then hung up the phone and stuffed it in his coat. He slipped an arm over Spinelli's shoulders, "Let's talk over coffee."

"You know I hate coffee," Spinelli mumbled.

"Yeah, but I live for the stuff," he said, leading her to the registrar, "I got it," he told her, pulling out his wallet and paying for her ice cream.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"Hey, what are friends for?"

"Got me," she shrugged.

-0-0-0-0-

"This is quite unusual," Gretchen said, slumped over the brown envelopes laid out on the booth table at Kelso's. There were four in all, exactly the same in shape, size, and color. Gretchen picked the first one up, opening it and dumping the contents on the table. "Why's it ripped up?" she questioned, looking at TJ who stood leaning over the brown envelopes.

"It came that way. Wasn't yours?" he answered.

"No," she replied, and then looked at Mikey and Gus who were sitting a good distance away from one another at the bar, "Well?"

"Mine wasn't ripped up either," Gus spoke up.

"And neither was mine." Mikey said. It only took Gretchen a few seconds to piece the message together and then she met TJ's eyes once more.

"This was addressed to Spinelli," she told him, not sure if he knew that.

"Yeah, I know. It was stuck between the pages of one of her magazines. What does it mean?"

"Didn't you get one?" she asked. He shook his head, confused. Mikey raised his eyebrow at that and Gus straightened on his stool.

"You didn't receive a mysterious letter? You do understand how suspicious that seems..." Mikey said from his place at the bar. His eyes bore into the back of TJ's head. TJ stood up, turning to face Mikey and Gus, then glancing back down at Gretchen who stared at him skeptically.

"You think I have something to do with these letters?" he demanded, "I didn't send them, if that's what you're all getting at. Look...Spinelli got one of those things, so it's the same as if I got one as far as I'm concerned." TJ argued.

"I really can't believe that you two are together," Gus commented, cradling his head in his hand, "I mean...it's odd is all."

"How's that?" TJ demanded, running his hand through his hair, "You don't think a guy like me could get a girl like her?"

"That's not what I meant," Gus replied flustered, "I just...you two didn't seem like...I don't know what I meant."

"You don't seem the right pair," Mikey finally said, "I always thought that Vince..."

"What about Vince?" TJ snapped, "What? Because Vince is better looking than me? Because he's richer? Because he set out to do everything he'd planned? You think he would be better with Spinelli?"

"Would you stop yelling so we can get back to the matter at hand?" Gretchen cried, "These letters seem far more important to me than TJ and Spinelli's relationship."

"You're right, Gretchen," Gus muttered.

"What can you figure out, Gretchen?" TJ sighed.

"They're all written in crude childish handwriting. But they're not done in the same hand. None of them are," she said, having laid out the other messages on top of their respective envelopes. "I mean...Mikey's is written by a left-handed person for instance."

"How odd..." Mikey whispered, "I'm left-handed."

"Hm..." Gretchen hummed, "Connection or coincidence? Perhaps their messages will give us...hm...now that's odd...the format is different for Spinelli's. For instance, a 'he' is mentioned, whereas, the other three letters never mention another person. And it directly addresses Spinelli as well. Let's see...'Gretchen knows all but the truth'...'Mikey is innocent as love'...'Gus will never win the debate'..."

"What does Spinelli's say?" Gus asked. Gretchen raised her eyes to look at TJ who studied the four messages.

"Spinelli, you are best at hide-and-seek, but he will soon find you," he recited from memory. There came a sound from outside, startling the four youths. Another noise, similar but closer caused them to turn their heads. Another, the sound of something soft hitting Kelso's windowpane aroused them to investigate. TJ was the first to the door followed by Gus who was incredibly angry.

"It's probably kids, they keep coming around and throwing garbage at the businesses along this street," he said, pushing his way outside and feeling something squish beneath his foot. He glanced down and backed away, sickened. "It's a dead bird." The companions stared out at the several dead pigeons and sparrows lying in the streets and sidewalks. Other people from the nearby businesses were glancing out as well, murmuring amongst themselves. More birds kept falling, flying into light poles and the brick walls. Some simply drove themselves into the ground, breaking their necks on impact or worse.

"This must be because of those magnetic disturbances," Gretchen said finally ducking back into Kelso's her face milk white with green tinge at her cheeks.

"Magnets are causing the birds to act crazy?" Gus questioned ecstatically.

"The odd energy currents must be throwing off their natural navigational abilities," Gretchen explained, "Though I don't claim to know anything about birds, I do know that magnetic waves can affect wildlife as well as people around or close to the activity."

"What's causing the disturbances?" TJ asked, watching the carnage outside with unemotional disinterest.

"That's what I came here to find out," Gretchen answered, "But I got a little distracted..." She looked pointedly at the booth table where the messages lay. She narrowed her eyes, watching liquid drip to the ground. "Oh shit," she said, rushing to the booth where her drink had apparently been knocked over. She went to save the messages first, though the brown envelopes were already a little damp. Gus came over to help clean it up, bringing napkins from behind the counter.

"So sad," Mikey commented, eyeing the pathetic massacre outside one last time before turning away, "Such a waste of life."

"It's going to rain," TJ told them, noting the gray clouds gathering in the sky and the wet gravel smell in the air, "I guess that's good. It'll clean up the mess." He glanced at the clock. "I have to go. Spinelli and me are having dinner with her parents," he said, suddenly aware of the time and how long they'd been there, "Call me if you figure anything out."

"Okay..." Gretchen answered watching TJ rush out the door to his rented car, barely avoiding a bird spiraling down to its death as he drove off.

"It sort of feels like old times, doesn't it," Gus said reminiscently.

"Yeah, if old times involved animosity between all of us, a fire that killed a little girl, odd letters in brown envelopes, and dead birds," Gretchen scowled sarcastically.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli sat licking her spoon covered in chocolaty goodness with Francis sitting across from her, a foam cup of steaming coffee in front of him and a spoon of his own in his hand. They'd found a small café that they assumed must have opened up in the past two, three years, because neither of them seemed to recognize it. They'd chosen a secluded booth, even though the shop was almost empty anyways.

"So Gretchen, Gus, Vince, and Mikey are back in town too, huh?" Francis said, after taking in the story of the recent events Spinelli had told him, "And you and Dettwieler are still together?"

"Yeah...we've been living in New York, sharing an apartment," Spinelli answered.

"And he tricked you into meeting the old gang at Kelso's," Francis nodded, dipping his spoon into the ice cream and shoveling a good helping into his mouth.

"I'm not even really angry about him tricking me anymore," Spinelli said, "I'm just mad that...I don't know."

"They were being jerks, huh?"

"Huge jerks," she confirmed, taking another spoonful of ice cream.

"And since when did Gretchen grow a _bitch_ backbone?" Francis said between bites, "She not the same soft spoken girl I used to know?"

"None of us are the same kids you used to know, Frankie," Spinelli sighed. She bent down, leaning forward and dropping her voice to a whisper, "We talked about...we talked about...it...you know...what happened." Francis's mouth dropped and he set his spoon down.

"You mean..." Spinelli nodded. "But what about the...you know...the pact?"

"We overruled the pact," Spinelli shrugged, "Frankie, you never told me what you thought...about what happened."

"I _didn't_ think about what happened, that's what," Frankie answered, taking a sip of his coffee, "I forgot about it, like we were supposed to do."

"You can't tell me you completely forced it from your mind. That you've never thought about it, not even once, for a slight second since then," Spinelli said, eyeing him with skepticism.

"Well, sure I've thought about it. I wake up late at night with nightmares because of it. But I don't waste precious long moments of my life thinking about it. There's nothing we can do...it was an accident. We honestly felt that it was an innocent prank. We never thought that something like that would..._could_ happen," Francis said, taking another sip of his coffee, "That's why you guys stopped being friends, isn't it? Because you couldn't decide whose fault it was? Well, let me let you in on something...it's no one's fault, really. That's what the problem is, you guys can't seem to comprehend that it was no one's fault. Somebody has to be to blame, right? Wrong."

"Frankie..."

"No, Ashley. Stop looking for someone to blame. It's over," he told her, "You guys need to start respecting the pact." They fell silent. Spinelli looked thoughtfully at her ice cream that was half melted now and Frankie swished his coffee gently in his hand. Finally he spoke again, "So tell me what's been going on with you and Dettwieler. You've been together a long time, he ever gonna pop the question?" It took Spinelli a moment to realize what question he was talking about.

"I don't know," Spinelli answered, "We haven't really talked about that."

"Why not?" Francis eyed her strangely, "Don't you want to marry him?" Spinelli furrowed her brow, biting her bottom lip.

"I've never thought about it before..." she said, genuinely unsure, "I just figured I'd always be with TJ..."

"Oh...but wouldn't it be nice, being able to introduce yourself as Mrs. Dettwieler, or Mrs. Spinelli-Dettwieler?" Francis inquired, smiling softly, "Or being able to introduce him as your husband?"

"I don't know..." she shrugged, digging in the ice cream in search of a chunk of chocolate. She hadn't honestly thought about it. It was just another un-girly thing about her. She wasn't thinking too much about getting married and having a litter of children. Did TJ think about marriage? Did TJ want _her_ to think about marriage? Wasn't she supposed to look dreamily at wedding dresses in stores and practice writing her name with his last name attached?

"Ashley? Hey, earth to Ashley Spinelli," Francis called her back from her musings and self-doubts.

"What?"

"I was just saying, if he burst in here right now and asked you to marry him would you say yes?" Francis questioned, "It's the only way to really know...you know...if you're actually into getting married. So would you? Say yes, I mean?"

"I...I..." Spinelli glanced out the window, trying to picture TJ running down the sidewalk, bursting through the door, throwing himself on one knee and asking her -- Ashley Spinelli; the tomboy, the tough girl, the cynical bully -- to marry him. She could see him burst into the coffee shop, but not to ask her to marry him. That part seemed -- improbable? Unrealistic? Maybe if she were prettier, more feminine...she tried to imagine herself in a cute skirt and blouse, hair tied up in curls, golden earrings, make-up, lip gloss, nails painted, high heels, the works. That kind of Spinelli...no...that Ashley, TJ would propose to her.

"Well?"

"It's never gonna happen, anyways, Frankie, so just drop the subject, alright," Spinelli whispered snappishly. She turned her gaze out of the window watching the few cars drive by.

"Why's that? Dettwieler not interested in marriage?" Francis pressed. He never had learned to stop pushing at things, which was one of the reasons Spinelli liked him. He was just as determined as her.

"That's not it," Spinelli sighed, "I'm not the kind of girl a guy does that for." Francis raised an eyebrow, then sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"You've no idea how hot you are, huh?" Francis said casually.

"What was that?" Spinelli demanded, readying to strangle her good friend right then and there.

"You're a really attractive woman Spinelli," he explained, not seeming to notice the risk he was taking, or just not caring, "I once had a sort of...you know, thing for you. I used to wonder why a great looking girl like yourself hung out with a chump like me. Then I realized, it's because you're such a wonderful person too. You don't care about the outside appearance of others. Where most girls would take in a guy's looks and decide based solely on that whether they'd give the guy the time of day, you wouldn't. Maybe 'cause consciously you didn't think about it like they did, or because you just didn't realize that what people looked like was supposed to matter. You're sweet on top of being drop dead gorgeous. You're the type of girl that makes people want to do nice things for, just to make you smile. Hell, Spinelli, if Dettwieler don't want to marry you, I'll propose right now." Spinelli raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you're making a love confession, Frankie," Spinelli joked.

"No. I respect Dettwieler too much, and, frankly, I respect the fury of your fists too much. The guts that guy must have...I can just imagine you waking up one morning with serious PMS and in one fell comment, it's all over for him," Francis said, laughing. Spinelli let a smile slip across her lips. "Ah-ha! I got you! I got you to smile," Francis cried, grinning triumphantly. They burst into laughter and for a long time just laughed. It felt good. Then finally they were interrupted as Francis's coat exploded with a cell phone ringing and the mirth between the two friends died down. He pulled the phone out, wiping jovial tears from his eyes glancing at the screen. "I have to take this," he told her, "Sorry."

"That's okay, I have to go anyways," Spinelli said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I'm having dinner with my folks," she explained, slipping out of the café chair and tossing her melted ice cream into a nearby trashcan. She kissed Francis on the cheek as she passed by while he talked on the phone, waving at her as she left.

Spinelli made her way down the street. The Dettwieler's residence was a few blocks over, so it wouldn't take her long to make her way back to their house. She hoped TJ was there already; he was much better at coming up with lies than she was. She knew he wouldn't tell his parents the truth; that Spinelli just stormed out on him. He wouldn't want to deal with all the questions. The town had darkened over, gray clouds flooding the sky. A dry wind had picked up and the streets were oddly empty for that time of day. She wrapped her arms about her body, walking by a car parked on the side of the road, the only car in sight. The windows were too tinted to see in, but she figured it was empty anyways. With her back to the car, she didn't see the headlights turn on, but she did hear the engine rev. She turned her head, eyes widening as the car drove at her. She barely dodged as the car raced by, brushing against her and knocking her to the ground. She could feel the air rush by as the car drove on, disappearing as it turned the corner farther down the street. Normally she would have screamed some obscenity after the vehicle, but something about the incident had her...frightened?

Spinelli pulled herself into a sitting position, steadying her breathing and taking an estimate of the damage. She'd scraped her elbow to hell, her back was sore now, and her ankle felt as though she may have twisted it. "Damn," she cursed softly beneath her breath. She had a tournament in a few days and this wasn't good for her. Taking in another deep breath, she pulled herself to her feet, gently testing putting weight on her ankle. It wasn't too bad, not even sprained. She walked the rest of the way to the Dettwieler house limping slightly and gently massaging her back. Silent and wary. She wouldn't tell TJ about the incident. It was nothing. Just a dick driver.

* * *

END A/N: Alright...very interesting, no? Eh. Next up, you guessed it, dinner at the Spinelli household. What drama will unravel? What new mysterious will arise? Hm...I'm tired.

Please review. I would love you so much if you did. Bad/good, make it constructive. Just a small blurb so I'll know what you think.

And, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. I say that all the time, but I want it drilled into your heads. I'm not perfect, I'm very far from it, in fact. I have no idea what I'm talking about.

Thank you for reading.


	8. Family Matters

A/N: This chapter didn't take so long to get up, I was inspired. Got nothing to say.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. To the new reviewer pixievix and to ravenforever as well- you sure you figured it out? - And lots of love to TheNextPoliticalDynasty, xXxSarahxXx, and PeachestheFirst, who I'm going to start calling momo-chan (momo means peaches in japanese) because I want to.

Put your hands together ladies and gents for...Chapter 8! Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 8: Family Matters

When TJ arrived home he wasn't sure what to tell his parents. Spinelli wasn't with him and he'd been gone most of the day. His brain was too emotionally exhausted to think up an excuse. He could barely muster a smile when he walked in the door and called out to whoever was in the house. But when no answer returned, he sighed with relief. He found a note posted on the refrigerator from his mother. She'd gone shopping. TJ figured his father was still at work, either that or went shopping with his mother. So TJ went upstairs to change for dinner at the Spinellis' house. He wanted to look nice; he didn't know Spinelli's parents that well. He'd only met them a few times. And even then, Spinelli was always in a rush to push him out of the house and leave her parents behind. To keep up the secret of TJ and her relationship, most likely.

TJ went to his old room first, shifting through the luggage for his nice shirt and dress pants. He considered wearing a tie, but decided he didn't want to be too overdressed. Then he slipped into the bathroom to clean up. He turned the shower on, adjusting the heat, and removed his clothes, stepping beneath the falling water. He rested his forehead against the tile, closing his eyes and letting the water beat down against his skin. It had been a long day. There came a sound from outside of the shower. Shuffling in the bathroom and the sound of the door closing. TJ, suddenly aware, opened his eyes, turning the water off and pulling the shower curtain back.

"Hello?" he called tentatively. There was a bang from outside of the bathroom. TJ grabbed the nearest towel and stepped out of the shower, making his way out the door, alert. "Mom?" he called. No answer. "Dad?" Still, no answer. "Spinelli?" More shuffling. He followed the sounds quietly, finally coming to a stop in front of the door to his room. Had he closed it? He reached his hand forward, all commotion in the room halting. His fingers wrapped about the handle and...

The front door opened with a loud creak, and closed with a careful thwack, as though someone were trying to enter stealthily. TJ snapped his hand away from his room's door and made his way to the stairs, glancing down. It was Spinelli, her hair falling about her face as she focused on her feet, climbing the stairs. She was favoring her right foot, gently touching her back with a soft hand in circular motions. There were scrapes along her left arm and shoulder and dried blood on her hand. She stopped halfway up the stairs, noticing TJ at the top, dripping wet, a towel wrapped about his waist.

"Hey," she finally managed to whisper, avoiding meeting his eyes.

"What happened?" he demanded, eyeing her with concern and uncertainty. Was she mad at him?

"I don't know what you mean."

"You look like shit, Spinelli."

"Gee thanks, Teej, you don't look half-bad yourself," she sneered, continuing with her steady and painful climb. TJ stopped her when she reached the top, touching his hand lightly to her hip, causing her to grimace slightly.

"What happened," he whispered now, softly.

"I tripped off the curb," she lied, concentrating on the well-carpeted floor beneath her feet. TJ could always tell when she tried to lie to him. She wasn't very good at it, "You know. I was mad, stomping off, and slipped trying to cross the street."

"I'm the klutz in this relationship, remember?" TJ said, touching her sore hand lightly, focusing his gaze on the split knuckle, and tracing the red around the deep cut with his thumb. This lie was important to her. He decided not to call her on it. "I'm sorry, Spinelli. I shouldn't have put you in that position. I just...I just thought that...I wanted to make things better."

"That's not good enough, Teej," Spinelli muttered, "I know you want us all to be friends again. But you can't make things better with soda and ice cream at Kelso's, it doesn't work like that anymore."

"It's not that I want us to be friends again, I know that that's probably impossible given everything that's happened between all of us. I just want...I want us to stop hating each other so...so vehemently, or at the very least try and understand why we do," TJ explained, "But I wouldn't have even attempted it if I thought I'd lose you in the process." Spinelli smiled slightly.

"You won't lose me, Teej," she said, finally entwining her fingers with his own, taking his hand, "You're kind of stuck with me," she grinned at him, "Does that scare you?"

"In a good way, yeah," TJ said, leaning forward and brushing his lips against her own. 

"Now go get dressed, stud," Spinelli commanded him against his lips. He nodded, kissing her again, before pulling away and making his way back to the bathroom, holding her hand as long as he could before he absolutely had to let go.

Spinelli made her way into TJ's old room to start getting ready for dinner herself. TJ had only just pulled his pants on when he heard her cry out. It only took him moments to rush to his room, throwing the door open. Spinelli was on the ground; all her luggage was torn open, her clothes strewn about the room. A pricey black garment, a particular dress TJ thought Spinelli looked stunning in, was slashed to shreds. The picture sitting on his dresser of him and her was damaged; Spinelli's face ripped out and torn into unrecognizable pieces and the glass was cracked.

"How did this happen?" she questioned angrily, holding the tattered black cloth in her hands, there were red stains on it, but from what, TJ couldn't determine.

"I don't know. I was just in here...ten, fifteen minutes ago," TJ answered, shrugging as he took in the destruction about him, "I thought I heard something...someone maybe, in here before you came home." He glanced at the window; it was open. Did Spinelli open it in the morning? She was too paranoid to sleep with it open. Was it open when he came in? "Maybe an animal climbed in. A raccoon maybe, they come around here some times."

"You think an animal did this?" Spinelli questioned, doubtful and exasperated. She sighed, pulling herself up and going about the room, picking up her scattered clothes. TJ moved to help her. She picked up the picture, showing it to him. "You think an animal did _this_?"

"I don't know, Spin. Why would someone break in here to mess with your things?" he asked her, throwing the clothes at her luggage. "I'm tired, Spinelli, and _I don't know_." Spinelli touched the dresser top and let her hand float to her neck.

"Shit," she muttered.

"What now?"

"The necklace you gave me for Christmas..." she fell to her knees, brushing her hands on the floor, under the dresser, the bed, frantically searching, "I took it off, to take a shower. I must have forgot to put it back on...unless..." She stopped, looking out the window, "When I fell...maybe it came off then."

"What necklace...?" TJ asked, thinking back to the recent Christmases that had past.

"You gave it to me in middle school, our first Christmas as a couple," she reminded him absently, rubbing the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"You still had that?" he said, lowering his eyes. He'd saved his allowance for weeks, even before they'd started dating, and still couldn't afford the necklace he really wanted to give her. He'd had to settle for a cheap tiny stone imbedded in pewter. She was upset about losing that?

"I always wear it," she told him, locking her eyes with his, "Because you gave it to me. I may not be girlish, but I still treasure everything you give to me. I still remember when you gave it to me too, you were so nervous."

"That's 'cause I didn't think you'd like it. It wasn't what I'd wanted to give you," he mumbled, running his hand through his hair, "You deserved better."

"I got the best, Teej," she told him, pulling herself up and scanning the room again. "I guess it's gone," she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. She continued with cleaning up her clothes, TJ watching, unsure what to say. Had she really kept everything he gave her? When Spinelli finished picking up the clothes, she stood, staring down miserably at the ruined dress.

"I saved up my tips for three months to buy this dress," she said forlornly, gathering the shreds into a bundle and throwing them in the garbage can next to TJ's old desk.

"Did you speak to your parents?" TJ asked, attempting to change the subject.

"No. I talked to Joey. He said he'd arrange the dinner." TJ paled.

"Did you tell him I was coming?"

"No," she smiled at him wryly, "I thought it would be a pleasant surprise of your own."

"Thanks," TJ drawled, brushing Spinelli's hair behind her ear and kissing her forehead.

"We should finish getting dressed if we're going to be there on time," she told him, trying to break their solemn mood. TJ nodded, reluctantly leaving again to the bathroom to finish dressing.

-0-0-0-0-

There they stood. Spinelli and TJ. In front of the lawn, with the tacky plastic pink flamingos and garden gnomes. In front of the house, painted olive green and dirt brown. In front of the house, with the mailbox shaped like a red barn, with a cow shaped flag. In front of the house Spinelli had been born and raised in. TJ took Spinelli's hand, as much for his own comfort as hers and tugged her towards the door. He raised his hand, knocking lightly. When no one answered, Spinelli pulled her hand from TJ's and pounded the door.

"Dad's probably watching wrestling," she explained, "There was a match on tonight. No one can hear anything the way he turns up the television. The doorbell's probably still broken too."

"I'm coming...I'm coming..." a gruff voice shouted from the house as the door swung open. The man standing before them was short, slightly taller than Spinelli who stood before him; her fists still up but paused from beating on the door. He was wearing a yellow hat and white boxers with red hearts dabbled across them. He was still wearing socks, pulled up well past his ankles, and a t-shirt reading "LET'S GET IT ON!!!", his wrestling shirt. His mouth hung open. Spinelli lowered her arms to her sides.

"Hey, daddy," Spinelli greeted, grinning sheepishly and trying to block the view from TJ who simply gaped at the man standing in the doorway.

"Flo, get in here!" the man yelled into the house.

"Coming," came the reply as a woman, slightly taller than the man, made her way into the living room. She was wearing a tank top and stretchy cotton high waters. Black-rimmed glasses, oval shaped framed her eyes and she walked with a feminine sway, stopping when the young woman standing on her doorstep became visible. "Pookie?" the woman said, her bottom lip trembling as she stepped closer to the door, tears springing to her eyes. "Pookie!" she cried, pushing her way past her husband and tossing her arms around Spinelli, smothering her with kisses and sobbing all the while. Bob stepped forward as well, grabbing his daughter and wife in a tight embrace. Suddenly, he noticed TJ and backed away, flushed, realizing how he was dressed.

"Maybe...maybe I should go change," he said, making his way out of the room. A young man in his early thirties dressed in jeans, a black button down shirt, and a frilly pink apron with white letters that said "Dinner's done when I say it is!" stepped from the kitchen. He had dark hair cut close to his scalp, dark eyes, and fuzzy remnants of a beard.

"Mom, let her breath," the young man told the woman smothering Spinelli, chuckling.

"Oh...right," Flo laughed, letting her daughter go and wiping tears from her eyes, "I'm sorry, Ashley, I just...I just haven't seen you in so long." Spinelli nodded stiffly, rigid and wide-eyed, staring cautiously at her mother, afraid to move and covered with red lipstick smudges.

"Hey, Joey," Spinelli greeted the young man.

"Is that little Theodore Dettwieler back there?" Flo asked.

"Yes, ma'am," TJ spoke up shyly; hoping Flo didn't hug him as well.

"You brought him with you?" Joey demanded and TJ gulped. Joey made to advance on Spinelli's cowering boyfriend, but stopped when he realized his mother and baby sister were watching, "Oh well, dinner's almost ready, you're right on time, brat," Joey told his sister, shooting TJ a scathing look as the two made their ways into the house. Flo gave her son a confused glance as her husband made his way down the stairs wearing pants.

"You knew about this?" Flo questioned. She threw her arms around her son then, "Oh Joseph! I can't believe you! How you kept it a secret..."

"So that's why you wanted to make dinner," Bob laughed.

"Yeah, I'll go set the table," Joey said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly and disappearing back into the kitchen.

-0-0-0-0-

For the first time in five years, Spinelli sat at the family table, a blue plastic fold out table, cheap and crappy. And yet, it was her family table. She'd shared so many meals over that table, so many discussions. She touched a dent in the corner of the table where she'd busted her head wrestling with her older brother Vitto when she was six. Beneath the tablecloth she could see the crayon markings of a picture she'd drawn on the tabletop when she was seven that her mother hadn't the heart to wash off. There was a dent on the tabletop as well, that her father had put there when he'd learned of Joey landing himself in jail, again, when Spinelli was nine. So many memories. A smile crept across her face as she saw the metal leg in the back that had been broken, though shoddily repaired now with duct tape, when she first kissed TJ and he'd tripped over his own bag and landed on the table. That was quite the difficult one to explain.

"So, Ashley, what have you been up to?" Flo asked. Joey had made spaghetti, Spinelli's favorite and the family specialty.

"I've been going to school in New York," Spinelli answered, biting into a forkful of tomato sauce slathered pasta.

"How are you paying for that?" Bob questioned, almost certain that he hadn't been billed recently by any bigwig school in New York.

"She's in on full scholarship," TJ answered, making to slip a proud arm over Spinelli's shoulders but stopping when he met Joey's death glare, "She's a really talented artist," he continued quietly, pulling his arm back and resting it in his lap.

"An art school," Flo squealed.

"I always knew my little girl had talent," Bob chuckled, slapping his arm over Spinelli's shoulders, where TJ had thought his arm should be, and kissing the top of Spinelli's head, causing her to fluster.

"Dad," she hissed.

"Anything else...I mean...anyone?" Flo pressed.

"Mom, I don't think Ashley wants to talk about that," Joey interrupted. The last thing he wanted was his parents finding out he'd failed in keeping the pervert boy-next-door from snaking his sister into a sinful relationship, leaving in New York, sharing a bed.

"Nonsense, I'm her mother," Flo laughed, "Well, Ashley?" Spinelli glanced at TJ who was smiling at her encouragingly, motioning for her to tell them the truth. She sighed, looking away from TJ remorsefully.

"No...no one," Spinelli mumbled. TJ frowned at the plate in front of him. Was she ashamed of him?

"See mom, there's no one," Joey said, smiling exultantly.

"Well, if that's the case, there's a young man that moved in down the street. He's a pre-med student," Flo exclaimed, clapping her hands together, "And he's quite attractive."

"That's great, mom," Spinelli mumbled, glancing at TJ from the corner of her eye. He was pushing the spaghetti on his plate around with his fork.

"He's about a year older than you, but that's nothing really. His name is Weiss Roper," Flo went on, "I'll introduce you two while you're in town. Maybe tomorrow, he doesn't work I don't think...you can wear a lovely dress. I always thought pink looked good on you." There was a scraping sound as TJ pushed his chair back.

"I have to use the restroom," he explained, walking from the kitchen.

"Teej..." Spinelli called after him. He paused, looking back at her.

"Oh," Flo called her daughter's attention back, "There's also a young man working at the grocery mart, he's studying to be a physicist..."

"I'll go make sure he finds the restroom," Joey excused himself from the table. TJ felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the well-built man grabbed his collar and spun him around so that they stood face-to-face.

"Hey...Joey..." TJ gulped, grimacing.

"I ain't gonna hit you," somehow that didn't seem reassuring, "You screwing my sister?"

"I would think that...well...she's an adult...so...I think that...well..."

"Are you screwing my sister," Joey demanded.

"On occasion...sometimes we...well, we don't refer to it as screwing...but..." TJ stuttered. Joey raised his fist, wagging it in TJ's face.

"I trusted you to make sure no little bastard, son-of-a-bitch, scumbag touch my sister, and you turn out to be that very little bastard, son-of-a-bitch, scumbag," Joey spat, "At least my parents don't know, the news would kill them. They trust you, like I did, and I don't want them to find out exactly what kind of conniving little shit my sister is running around with. This could wreck her reputation, you know that?"

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt Spinelli," TJ whimpered. Joey gave TJ one last look over before letting him go.

"Doesn't matter. You're obviously not important enough for my sweet baby sister to tell our parents about," Joey shrugged, "And I've met Weiss. I like him. I think he'd be good for my sister." With that said, he disappeared into the kitchen again. TJ sighed. Maybe Joey was right. Maybe he wasn't important enough for Spinelli to tell her parents about.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ couldn't help but slam the door behind him as they made their way into the Dettwieler residence. He stormed up the staircase to his old room leaving Spinelli standing at the front door and ignoring his mother who called after him, "What's wrong?" Spinelli rubbed her face furiously before moving forward to trudge up the stairs after TJ.

Spinelli went to open the door but it was locked. She knocked hesitantly.

"Go away!"

"You can't lock me out, Teej, all my stuff is in there," Spinelli screamed through the door. There was fumbling at the knob and the door swung open.

"Fine," TJ snapped. He'd already torn his shirt off and changed into a white t-shirt and his hair was a mess. He grabbed her luggage, flinging one at her smaller bags out of the door, which she caught with ease while he dragged the rest from the room. "Now they're not." He went to shut the door again but Spinelli stopped it.

"Would it help if I said I was sorry?" Spinelli cried.

"I don't know...try it."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Nope, didn't work. But it was a nice try," TJ shouted.

"Then, at least let me explain!"

"What's there to explain, Spinelli? They were right there, you were all set up. All you had to do was tell them the truth. But you blew it. So, say 'hi' to Weiss tomorrow, or is it the lawyer, or the soon-to-be physicist, or the struggling actor, or the off-key singer? You know what, I don't care who it is! And since we're not a couple, than there's no reason we should be sleeping under the same roof, so...so...so I'll help you take your things over to your parents' house. You can tell them you changed your mind and would rather stay with them than in a...what was it? A motel?" TJ screamed. He took a deep breath and sighed, unable to meet Spinelli's eyes, fuming.

"Fine," she whispered. No angry comment. No insult. No comeback. No Madame Fist. Just the sad sound of weary defeat. TJ hated himself. "I can't think of an excuse. It's just...my parents aren't as simple as yours are. I couldn't tell them."

"Are you...are you... are you ashamed of me?" TJ questioned, afraid to look at her.

"What? Why would you say that, Teej?" Spinelli asked, "I'm not ashamed of you. I'm just...my parents...I'm afraid of what they'd say. My parents are old fashioned...if they knew that we were..."

"I know. They'd die of shock. Your brother had the decency to fill me in," TJ snapped, "It'll be easier like this Spinelli. I'm not important enough to tell your parents about...I guess maybe you should find someone who is."

"Teej..."

The phone began ringing in the background and the two fell silent. It only got to the second ring before one of TJ's parents picked up the phone. There was the sound of someone climbing the stairs and Mrs. Dettwieler appeared before them.

"That was Gretchen, TJ, she wanted me to tell you that she needs you to come to Kelso's," Mrs. Dettwieler announced, looking between the two of them, "What are you two shouting about?"

"It's nothing, mom," TJ told her, "Thanks."

"I'm glad you and Gretchen have made amends," she said, smiling at him, and glancing warily at Spinelli before retreating downstairs again.

"Humph...Gretchen," Spinelli snorted, picking up her bag, she looked indignantly at TJ, "Kiddy stuff?" she asked with mock pleasantness.

"No," TJ said, eyes on the ground, "It's about that brown envelope that you got. Mikey, Gus, and Gretch each got one too. Gretchen probably found something out about them. You should come."

"The brown envelope...with that message...?" Spinelli asked. TJ nodded.

"Will you come?" 

"Yeah...let's go."

* * *

END A/N: So whadya think? I'll try and update soon, I know you're all in suspense as to what Gretchen discovered about the letters...and trust me...it's a doozy. Okay, maybe I'm biased, because it's my fic, but oh well. Please review.

And please excuse and grammatical and typing errors.

Thanks for reading. NOW GO REVIEW! I don't want to start threatening people.


	9. Beloved Doubt

A/N: Okay, chapter nine is finally here! Didn't take too long. Only a couple days. First off, to all those Vince fans, I'm sorry he's acting like such a bastard...don't worry, I think he may redeem himself...or maybe he'll just die. I don't know.

To my reviewers, xXxSarahxXx, TheNextPoliticalDynasty, and Momo-chan, thanks for the reviews on my last chapter, you guys rock!

TNPD: Your _little_ brother? hm...I guess they can be protective too. You really like HK? It's too bad...I'm going to kill him off....bwahahahahahahahahaha...heh...heh...I'm just joking. I'd never ruin the story for you like that. I don't know who, if anyone, I'm going to kill off. I just wish I could have seen your face when you read that. Hehe...sorry.

I'm all choked up, people are starting to threaten me for updates. Oh...well...here's the update. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 9: Beloved Doubt

Spinelli and TJ had never really been inside of Kelso's late at night. They'd been outside of Kelso's late at night, they'd been in businesses near Kelso's late at night, but they'd never been inside of Kelso's late at night. It felt almost...wrong. They walked to the door, standing away from one another, and knocked on the glass. They could see Gus appear and unlock the door, letting them in. TJ looked over his shoulder at the street. There was no trace of the dead birds from earlier. Someone must have cleaned them up. It was pouring outside. They noticed two things when they walked into the small shop. The tables had been rearranged forming one big table with separate chairs for each of them, and Vince was there.

"Why's he here?" TJ demanded.

"I believed there was a pattern to these letters so I contacted Vincent and found that I was correct in my assumption that he had received a mysterious brown envelope as well," Gretchen explained snootily, pushing the glasses up on her nose and eyeing Spinelli. "Why is she here?"

"The letters concern me as much as you, Grundler," Spinelli spat before making her way to the table and sitting down, shooting Vince a dangerous look that TJ couldn't help but notice. There were five envelopes laid out now instead of the four. "Those them?"

"Yes," Gretchen said, straightening one of the letters and taking a seat across from Spinelli, in front of the envelopes.

"Did you find something out about these messages?" TJ demanded, "Or are we just here to know that Vince got one too?"

"Hey," Vince snapped, "I'm not too thrilled about being dragged out here, so don't start acting like I'm unwanted or unwelcome."

"And don't snap at me," Gretchen added, glowering at TJ. Mikey appeared from the back holding a milkshake.

"He's finally here," the large man muttered, "And he brought Spinelli with him. We won't be having another dramatic showdown will we?"

"So long as Grundler keeps her mouth shut, I don't think so, Mikey," Spinelli replied, eyes firmly watching the table, recalling the things Gretchen had said to her, which reminded her, "I should probably tell you guys, the Ashleys are all in town, and so's Frank...I mean...Francis."

"And I checked Menlo out, he still lives here. He works at Third Street as a secretary in the office," Gus said, puffing his chest out proudly at the information he'd gathered, "And you won't guess who else is back in town. Butch and Randall. Butch is a professor of urban legends, can you believe that? He's here researching a legend that he's traced back to our little town. And Randall works for the CIA or the FBI or the IRS...something like that. Who knows why he's here."

"That's almost all of us..." TJ mumbled, "Sam and Dave are all that's missing."

"You don't think that..." Vince started, but realized whom he was speaking to and turned away stubbornly. "Never mind."

"Spit it out, LaSalle, or you'll be spitting out teeth," Spinelli threatened.

"The Sam and Dave Excavation Company, in the city over?" Vince stated as though it were obvious, "Word is that the owners of the company are here investigating the prospect of branching out to this town."

"So we're all here," TJ said, "What does it mean?"

"It's probably just coincidence," Gretchen told them, "There's nothing to really worry about. Right?" No one said anything. "Look, we came here about these letters. Let's talk about them, shall we?"

"What did you find out, Gretch?" Gus asked.

"I want to know what Vince's says first," TJ spoke up.

"What's it to you?" Vince barked.

"There's no reason to not tell him what yours says," Mikey interceded, as he always had when they were still the old gang, "It is all a piece to this puzzle."

"Fine, 'Vince is going to lose the game', happy now?" Vince spat.

"What's that supposed to mean? What game?" Spinelli wondered aloud.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here," Vince replied sharply, "Gretchen, what did you find out about the letter, already?"

"You're not going to believe this," Gretchen started, "But from what I can figure, the letters were written by...well...us. As far as I can tell, we wrote ourselves the letters."

"Us?" Spinelli questioned, "I don't remember writing myself that stupid message."

"It doesn't even look like her handwriting," TJ put in. Spinelli glanced at him from the corner of her eye, not sure if she should talk to him. They hadn't spoken on the car ride over. She wasn't sure where she stood with him at the moment.

"That's the thing. They appear to have been written by us...fifteen years ago," Gretchen explained haughtily, "I acquired samples of each of our handwriting from the fourth and fifth grade. I do have every document catalogued in my attic. I ran an analysis and they appear to be exact matches, even going so far as the random calculation for human imperfection."

"Could someone have copied our handwriting?" Gus asked.

"I considered that theory to no avail," Gretchen retorted, "The person would, not only have to be a skilled and extremely talented forgery expert, but ambidextrous as well."

"Couldn't it be possible that there's more than one person writing these letters?" Gus persisted.

"No, do you know how difficult it would be to find one person capable of such a feat in the first place?" Gretchen snapped, "The only logical conclusion that can be drawn is that at some point in our youth we wrote these letters to ourselves and perhaps blocked the memory from our minds or were forced to forget through some form of hypnosis, better referred to as brain wash."

"Yeah, that's logical," Vince chuckled malignantly.

"Are you certain that they're not copies of something we've written before?" TJ inquired, "I mean like a cut, paste, scan, touch up, and print job? It wouldn't be that hard."

"No, this is actual crayon markings and the flow of the letters suggests that they were not pasted together from different samples of writings, that they were actually written in one sitting."

"What do you think about them, Gretchen, the actual messages I mean? What's your professional opinion?" TJ asked.

"Well...these four appear to be more of predictions. Fortunes in a sense."

"Like fortune cookies without the cookie?" Mikey interrupted.

"Um...yeah, sort of," Gretchen replied, raising an eyebrow at him. "However, the one that Spinelli received appears to be more of a threat than anything else."

"Maybe because threats are all she understands," Vince scoffed, looking at Spinelli expectantly. She lowered her eyes, studying the table and sneaking a peak at TJ, which seemed to arouse disgust in Vince.

"Or perhaps because she herself wrote it, being the aggressive person she is," Gretchen pointed out, "It better suits her personality."

"I think we should stick with a third party writer of the letters, seeing as how none of us recall writing these letters," TJ suggested.

"Well that's not for you to decide, is it?" Vince spat, "No one put you in charge."

"I'm not saying I am in charge," TJ sneered, "I'm just saying that maybe we shouldn't jump to an improbable conclusion."

"Will you two stop it!" Gus cried, "All you guys do when you're together is fight. Vince, stop jumping down TJ's throat, he's right. We shouldn't jump to any conclusions. TJ, stop-goading Vince on. Didn't anyone ever teach you to walk away from a fight?"

"Well, he _is_ dating Spinelli," Vince put in snidely. There was a noticeable wince shared between TJ and Spinelli. The others looked between the two, Spinelli sitting silently across the room staring moodily at the table, TJ standing away from her running his hand nervously through his hair, both avoiding eye contact. Vince smirked, "Lovers' quarrel?"

"Our relationship is none of your goddamned business," TJ hissed.

"What relationship?" Spinelli said, her voice a bit shaky, "I mean...you did break up with me right?"

"Can we not do this right now, Spinelli?" TJ sighed, brushing his hand through his hair again. She slammed her fists against the table, pushing herself out of the chair and turning to face him.

"Well, it just hit me, so yeah, I think we should do this now," she said, trying to control the unsteady quiver in her tone.

"Spin..." There came a thunderclap in the distance, and the lights went off. Cries of confusion filled the room as the gang stumbled about, trying to find the light switch, or a source of light.

"Must be a power failure," Gus said through the dark, finding one of the flashlights kept behind the counter in case of emergencies. "There should be candles in the back. Will someone go find them? I know there's an emergency generator somewhere in the back of the building, but I have to search. Gretchen...maybe you should come with me? I'm not sure if I know how to work a generator," Gus asked, and then added quietly, "And I don't want to go alone."

"I'll accompany you, Gus, but starting a generator really is a simple matter," Gretchen sighed, standing up from the table and sidling up beside Gus.

"I'll go look for the candles," Spinelli sighed.

"I'll come with you," Vince said quickly gaining a look of detest from Spinelli. She looked to TJ, but he was carefully studying the corner of the table. "It's best if we stick with someone, in small groups."

"Fine, whatever. I guess you can tag along," Spinelli spat, taking a flashlight from Gus's outstretched hand.

"They should be in a closet near the freezer. You know where the freezer is, correct?"

"Yeah," Spinelli told him before rounding the corner to the back, Vince close behind.

"I guess you and Mikey can just stay here," Gus said, handing another flashlight to TJ, who exchanged a miserable look with Mikey. It was easier with the whole gang in one room. Then the hate was distributed evenly. Now with just the two of them, they would have to direct all their hate at one another. Neither was looking forward to it. Gus seemed to read them at once, "Vince and Spinelli should be back shortly...and who knows, the power may just come back on."

"What are the chances of that?" TJ asked unhappily.

"Oh...pretty slim in a storm like this," Gus shrugged, noting how the wind and lightening had picked up outside. "Come on, Gretchen. I think there's a piece of tarp in the storage we can use to shield the rain. There's also has access to the back through there." The two walked off through a door behind the counter leaving Mikey and TJ alone.

For what seemed an eternity, they were silent, ignoring one another. Finally, TJ sighed, glancing at Mikey who was sitting at a barstool.

"Where've you been?" TJ asked politely, "I mean, what have you done with your life." For a moment, Mikey looked as though he were considering whether he should answer or continue ignoring TJ. Finally he spoke.

"I have been traveling with a Broadway troupe performing the newest musical, 'The Reveling'. We've come to rest now at a small theatre in New York where we perform nightly," Mikey replied with an uppity sneer. He glanced at the wall, his nose stuck up in the air, "And you?"

"You've been living in New York too?" TJ gaped, "Spinelli and me share an apartment there...she's attending an art academy. I've been writing for a magazine."

"I never would have taken you as a writer, Theodore," Mikey said, offset from his loathe.

"I never would have either," TJ replied sheepishly, shrugging, "It's not what I wanted to do with my life. But after...well...after what happened, I kind of lost my nerve...to do things..." Mikey turned away at the mention of what happened. It reminded him that he was supposed to hate TJ, not feel sorry for him.

"What happened...humph..."

"I don't understand you, Mikey. I always thought that you...that you would be a guiding light through something like that," TJ muttered, "But you turned on all of us. You didn't prove yourself to be the person I thought you were."

"I'm not like you," Mikey snapped.

"You're right, you're not. You never were," TJ hollered, "Maybe I'm just mad because of Spinelli, or maybe I really am just mad because of you, but it doesn't matter. We all acted wrong in that given scenario...but you? You acted as though you were better than us. Like the decisions that were made...the actions that were taken...had nothing to do with you. I got news for you, though, Mikey. You made those decisions, just like all of us. You were as much a part of what happened as any of us."

"TJ...if you think you deserve my..."

"I don't think I deserve anything from you, Mikey," TJ sighed, interrupting the large young man. Sadness unlike any Mikey had ever thought possible in the once confident and wide-eyed wonder known as TJ filled his eyes. It was as though he were that little boy again as he continued, "But them...Gretchen, Vince, Spinelli, and Gus, they needed you. They needed you to offer them some kind of comforting word, like always. But you weren't there for them. You blamed them when really...really...you should have just blamed me and kept them from becoming like this. You're not better than them; you're not better than any of them. Maybe back then I should have taken responsibility...but I was afraid. Maybe you could have convinced me to do that then and none of this would have happened. None of them would hate each other. I wouldn't have hurt Spinelli...maybe I wouldn't have ever had her...but I wouldn't have hurt her."

"I don't know what to say to that, TJ," Mikey stuttered, stunned.

"I'll let you off the hook then, Mikey," TJ said, standing up and stumbling to the corridor that led to the back of the store, "I'm gonna go see what's taking Vince and Spinelli so long."

-0-0-0-0-

The storm had really picked up outside, and there was only one piece of tarp. Gretchen and Gus were not in the mood to share.

"You can use it," Gus told her, handing it over.

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction..." Gretchen started but caught the look in Gus's eye that practically said, "let's not have any bullshit alright." "Fine," Gretchen sighed, taking the green plastic sheet from Gus's grasp and wrapping it about herself. Gus led her through the storage unit, nothing more than a tiny room, more the size of a shed, filled with dusty objects. An old smoothie machine, an ancient soda fountain, moldy boxes, and even yellowed newspapers.

When Gus opened the door, the wind hit them with daggers of raindrops. They had to push their way to the outside, Gus holding the door open for Gretchen to force her way out.

"It should be somewhere along the wall," Gus shouted to her, but even though he screamed until his throat was sore, she still was barely able to hear him, the wind carrying away his words before they reached her ears.

"You go that way, Gus, and I'll go this way," Gretchen screamed her reply after finally figuring out what he was saying. Gus nodded, wrapping his arms about himself and making his way along the wall, his back to Gretchen who turned the other way. He felt along the edges of the bricks, his glasses covered with water, blurring his vision.

"Gretchen?" He called, turning to look for her. "Did you find it?" He noticed motion in front of him. "Hello? Gretchen?" A slight sound, almost inaudible. Was that...giggling? Gus lost his touch on the wall as a strong gust of wind pushed him off course, knocking his glasses from his face. Practically blind without them, Gus immediately fell to his knees and began searching the ground for the necessary lenses. He heard a crunch nearby of glass breaking and his heart sank. He couldn't see anything without his glasses. He sat back, trying to find the brick wall again, praying he was headed in the right direction, wishing the guys were there. TJ would have known what to do...

Something cold and firm slipped around Gus's neck, and his vision faded. His mind lost all concentration and focus. The last thing he heard before he slipped to the ground unconscious was the sound of a young girl giggling and the crack of a wooden object hitting soft flesh.

-0-0-0-0-

"Shit..." Spinelli cried as a box of knick-knacks fell on her head. She stood in a storage closet, in front of a shelf, rummaging through a great deal of junk. She snapped her head around, "Why don't you make yourself useful, LaSalle, and hold this damn flashlight for me?" Vince slipped beside Spinelli, taking the illuminating object from her hand, brushing against her.

"What happened between you and TJ?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

"What's it to you?" Spinelli retorted, climbing up on one of the shelves to get a better look at the boxes on the top.

"Watch it, will you? You could fall," Vince warned just as Spinelli lost her grip, tumbling back and knocking him over, landing on his chest with a thud. The flashlight rolled away from them, hitting the closed door.

"If you wouldn't distract me," Spinelli scowled, attempting to pull herself up but getting tangled with Vince who'd been trying the same thing. He stopped, placing his hands on her shoulders and meeting her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Spinelli," he told her.

"It's not _that_ serious, LaSalle," she scoffed, squirming beneath his gaze.

"No. I mean, about before. I didn't mean to corner you like that. I don't have anything against you...it's TJ that I blame," Vince explained, "It's just when I saw you two together."

"You think this doesn't involve me? It's nothing against me?" Spinelli spat, "_You hate TJ_. You blame him for something that you shouldn't be blaming him for. You make him feel...you make him hate himself. Mary Anna was not his fault."

"There's a lot more going on between us than just that," Vince hissed.

"Like...for instance?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yeah," Vince released her, picking himself up and extending a hand to her. She ignored it, pulling herself up to face him. "I'd thought I was over it...my...well...Spinelli...I had a crush on you in grade school. TJ was the only one who knew about it, because he had been my best friend, the only one I could trust. You don't know how good it felt that, with what happened, you were on my side. I thought maybe I had a chance...when we had that conversation. There was so much I had wanted to tell you. I'd thought I was sick back then and TJ had told me to ignore it, that maybe it would go away. Then when we stopped talking and hanging out, it hurt at first, but I eventually stopped thinking about you. I started to think that I was over you. But then, in TJ's backyard," Vince turned his back to her, pounding his fist into his open hand, "He'd betrayed me and nothing hurt more. He took the girl I..."

"Vince, I don't get what you're trying to say," Spinelli whispered, biting her lower lip. He turned again to face her.

"Don't you get it, Spinelli? I'm in love with you," he said, "And I can't forgive TJ, because he betrayed me. He knew how I felt about you."

"Vince...don't..."

"No. TJ hurt you, Spinelli, I'm not blind I can see it. I wouldn't do that to you," Vince told her, placing his hands on her shoulders, "I am in love with you, Ashley Spinelli." He leaned in, touching his lips to hers and for a moment she did nothing, standing in shock while he pressed his kissed against her unwilling mouth. Finally a sound from the doorway allowed Spinelli to muster the strength and push Vince away. They turned to the door where a young man held a flashlight at them, a frown pulling at his lips, and eyes that seemed deadened by the scene before him.

"Teej..." Spinelli stuttered. There came a loud rumble and the lights turned on. TJ turned from them, making his way back to the front, Spinelli running after him and Vince following at her heel. "TJ, listen to me," Spinelli cried, grabbing his sleeve.

"No, I'm done talking, Spinelli," TJ snapped, turning on her, "I don't care anymore. Vince is perfect for you, isn't he? You guys can work out at the gym together! And hell, he can attend your goddamned tournaments and you can go to his basketball games! You guys can live your perfect lives, the perfect little couple!" The door behind the counter opened and Gretchen entered, soaking wet despite the piece of green tarp wrapped about her.

"What's going on?" she questioned Mikey having heard the shouts from TJ. Mikey shrugged, staring wide-eyed at them.

"TJ, I didn't..._he_ kissed me," Spinelli protested.

"I don't care who the hell kissed who, Spinelli. I don't care," TJ shrugged, "Vince...Jocko...what does it matter _who_ the guy is? I mean, sheesh, I don't want to worry about it anymore. We're not right for each other, that's just how it is. So why don't you go run off with Vince, or whoever else you choose. Some muscle guy that's perfect for you, because I sure as hell ain't. And you can tell your parents about him, huh? Because he's done something with his life, he's nothing to be ashamed of. He's handsome, a lot better looking than me, and rich..." No one was quite sure what happened when they heard the crack. TJ's hand went to his left cheek, his face turned from the force of the impact, eyes shut and Spinelli stood in front of him, fist clenched, back arched; watching the skin beneath TJ's hand turn red. Spinelli had punched TJ, which was all the onlookers could begin to comprehend. TJ slowly turned to look at Spinelli, expecting a glare that would make flowers wilt. Instead he was faced with tears flowing down pristine cheeks, eyes filled not only with anger but pain as well, and a trembling lower lip. It was enough to kill him.

"Never... never...you'll never get it," she whispered through clenched teeth. She turned from him, burst through the door of Kelso's, running down the street, wiping her eyes on her arm, though it didn't matter because she was already soaked through and leaving the stunned group behind.

"I..." TJ mumbled, staring blankly at his hands, he could just feel the pain in his cheek forming a bruise, but he didn't care. It was nothing compared to the pain in his chest.

"Where's Gus?" Gretchen inquired, cleaning her glasses on a rag she found behind the counter.

"He was with you, Gretchen," Mikey reminded her as though speaking to a three year old.

"He disappeared when we were out back," Gretchen countered scathingly, then looking about the shop in confusion, "I thought he came back in here...but..."

"Shouldn't one of us go after Spinelli?" Vince asked, staring out the window where Spinelli had run off.

"I bet you'd like to be the shoulder she cries on," TJ muttered unemotionally, rubbing his cheek. He hadn't meant anything by it, but Vince didn't see it that way.

"You really should have watched your mouth," Vince shouted, wheeling on TJ, "Who's the bastard now, huh? I'm not sure on this...but I think it may be you. You had no right to say those things to her. I can't believe she was with you so long."

"You don't know anything about her, Vince," TJ shot back, fists clenched at his side.

"I know that you're not good enough for her."

"Maybe I'm not. But she chose me back then, and that kills you doesn't it?" TJ yelled, "You don't care about her, Vince, not in the way you think you do. You don't even know who she is."

"Oh really? Her favorite colors are black and blue. She loves wrestling, spaghetti, and lost three teeth in a fight against Lawson when she was in the first grade, nothing compared to the damage she did to his face. I was her best friend too, _Teej_." Vince sneered.

"That was before, Vince," TJ roared, "You don't know shit about who she is now. You don't know that her first job was at Floppy Burgers and that she got fired because she kept cutting the sleeves off her uniform. You don't know that she needed tutoring all through math. You don't know that her first painting was entitled 'Gingersnap' and hangs in our bedroom and that she painted it after our first fight and that it was snowing that night! You don't know that she works as a waitress at some cheap diner that she doesn't mind yet but'll probably quit in the next few months because she'll get bored with it and look for something else. You don't even know that she snores, but it doesn't matter because it's soft and steady and she looks like an angel when she sleeps so I'd rather watch her anyhow! You don't know anything about who she is now, Vince. You want the same girl you used to know, but she's changed, and she's grown up. You're a goddamned fool if you think you love her or even feel anything about her, because facts are facts, _you don't even know her_. You don't even know that only an idiot with a death wish would chase after Spinelli in the mood she's in now."

"Hello, did you guys not hear me?" Gretchen cried, interrupting the two young men and bringing them back to their surroundings, "Gus is missing. And Spinelli took off. Would you guys either please fill me in on what's going on or shut up and help me look for Gus."

"Gretch," Mikey spoke up, "What happened to the other messages?"

"What?" Gretchen turned to the table where she'd left the five mysterious letters. There were only three now.

* * *

END A/N: Well...what'd you think? A good way to let me know is to review. For those of you following and wondering when are TJ and Spinelli going to make amends, if ever, well...all I have to say is, get ready for one hell of an emotional rollercoaster ride. I just want to give TJ a hug in this story. I always want to give TJ a hug, but sad, self-loathing TJ...I just want to snuggle. I know, I'm weird...but I'm allowed to be because I've accepted it as a truth and a fact.

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. I saw one last time I wrote this little message...meh.

Thanks for reading. Now go review.


	10. Exchanging Words

A/N: Okay, I have ten minutes to get this posted and go brush my teeth. This is chapter ten. There's a slight warning, Spinelli has a little fight with her brother and tends to use more vulgar words around him.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, again. xXxSarahxXx, TheNextPoliticalDynasty, and Momo-chan.

Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 10: Exchanging Words

Gus awoke to the sound of dripping. His head hurt and he couldn't see anything because his glasses were gone, though it didn't matter anyways as the place he was in was dark. From what he could tell, he was near water. He could smell it, but whether that was due to the rain or that he was actually near a body of water, he didn't know. There was something warm and sticky on his neck and trickling down his cheek. His hands were tied up above him to a wooden beam with rope, his feet barely touching the ground beneath him.

"Hello?" he called, "Is anyone out there?" There was no answer. He could make out colors, but no definite shapes. "Gretchen?" He called, hoping that maybe, at the very least, she was there with him. Still, no answer came. He could hear a sound, somewhere. "Hello?" he called, his voice quivering with fear. "I wish I had my glasses..." he muttered, "I wish the guys were here with me." He felt motion, something nearby him, warm air blowing against his cheek, and the light childish laughter of a young girl.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli stood on the porch at the side of her parents' house. The white painted door was all that stood between her and entering. She was drenched and the rain still continued to pour. But she didn't notice it. We're not right for each other. That's what TJ had said. They weren't right for each other. Vince was perfect for her. That door led to a separate room from the rest of the house. Her brother's living space. She sniffled, wiping at her nose before knocking gently. Tears mingling with raindrops. It wasn't too terribly late at night Joey was still awake. She knew he was. The door opened a crack, the older man looking out into the night.

"Ashley? What are you doing here?" Joey demanded, looking his younger sister up and down before pulling back the door and tugging her in. "You're soaked," he scolded. His room was almost like a small apartment. There was a bathroom off to the side that only he could access and a door that led into the kitchen. His bed and floor were covered with discarded clothes, magazines, there was even a plate with a moldy, half-eaten sandwich laying a top it. Spinelli's room had once looked the same. Joey disappeared, returning shortly with a towel and some clothes. "I think they're clean," he said, handing them over to her. She accepted, making her way into the bathroom, shivering to the bone. She hadn't realized it was so cold. She hadn't cared.

"I had to talk to you..." she mumbled, changing into the oversized jeans and sweater. She rung out her hair in the sink and stepped out of the bathroom again, facing her brother.

"About what?" Joey asked, staring in concern for his sister. She looked a wreck. Her hair in knots, her face pale, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes, like empty voids.

"TJ."

Joey turned, overcome with anger and frustration. He should have known that that little butterball jerk had something to do with the way his sister was acting and how she looked.

"What'd he do to you?" Joey demanded, "I'll ring his fucking neck."

"What did you do to him?" Spinelli spat back at her brother, and he finally caught her threatening glare. "Or better yet, what did you say to him?"

"Look...he doesn't deserve you. He's a little rat, Ashley. You need someone who'll be good for you. Someone who won't force you to do bad things, won't force you to go against what you were taught in this house, what mom and dad taught you," Joey argued.

"I do fine rebelling on my own without TJ. In fact, he's never encouraged me to go against what I was taught, he's convinced me in the past more often than not to do the _right_ thing," Spinelli cried, "I've always gone against what they taught me on my own. It's just how I am. Now what did you tell him?"

"Will you keep it down, you'll wake up mom and dad."

"I don't give a fuck if I wake up mom and dad! Let 'em wake up! I hope they wake up and hear every little fucking thing I have to say," Spinelli screamed, "Tell me what the hell you told him!"

"What do you think I told him?" Joey snarled, "I told him that he's a fucking bastard. A snake tailed, scum bag, perverted little shit. I told him the truth, that he wasn't important enough for you to share with our parents. I told him what I thought, that Weiss was..."

"I don't want Weiss, I want TJ," Spinelli shouted stubbornly, balling her hands into tight fists, "You had no right..."

"I had every right," Joey snapped, "I'm you older brother, Ashley. I want what's good for you. I want to protect you from creeps like him."

"You're so full of crap," Spinelli muttered, "You didn't think he was a creep before you knew we were dating. Why is he one now?"

"Because he weaseled his way in, that's why. I thought I had help, someone else watching your back and keeping you safe, with Vitto gone I needed someone else's help. I was wrong. He became one of the guys I had to protect you from," Joey yelled.

"You don't have to protect me from anyone! I can handle myself, I always could! But I guess it doesn't matter anymore now..." Spinelli's voice cracked, new tears streaming down her face. "He broke up with me..." She slipped to the floor, tears flowing down her cheeks and desperate sobs escaping her throat. "Because of what you said...because of Vince..." She buried her face in her arms, crying. Joey was taken aback having never seen his little sister cry before, he bent to comfort her, but she wrenched away, turning her tear-filled eyes on him, raging with the fire that burned within her. Her voice was steady, loathing, "I hate you. I won't forgive you for this. I can't." She buried her face again and he pulled away, not sure what to say or do. "This is your fault..." she sobbed silently, "...and Vince's...and mine...he broke up with me, Joey...he broke up with me...we're over...he broke up with me...oh god, Joey..." Joey moved forward, wrapping his arms around his younger sister hesitantly, taking her into his embrace and rocking her gently. She'd said she hated him and those words stung more than anything else she'd said that night. His baby sister who he loved more than life itself, who he would defend to the death, who he would shoot down the moon for, hated him.

Joey considered killing TJ. Wasn't it TJ's fault that Joey's sweet innocent little sister was crying so hard? Wasn't it TJ's fault that his sister was in so much pain? Didn't TJ take Joey's baby sister away to begin with? But he couldn't kill TJ. He'd just make him pay a little.

-0-0-0-0-

The storm outside had finally died down but the gang was still gathered around the table at Kelso's, or what was left of the gang.

"Gus's is gone," Gretchen stated again. She'd repeated the same thing for the past three hours, but no matter how many times she said it, she couldn't figure out what it meant. "And Vince's is gone." They'd rewritten the messages on a napkin so they wouldn't forget them, thinking that there was some hidden clue in the words. Some hint as to who'd sent them, as to who'd written them, as to what the hell was going on. They had searched for Gus but found nothing more than a wooden block by the side of the street with a smear of red on it. They hoped that it wasn't connected to Gus's mysterious disappearance.

"Gus will never win the debate...what debate? Was he going to participate in a debate sometime soon?" Mikey asked.

"Perhaps we should examine the meaning of the word debate, or the different meanings it can take," Gretchen suggested, "Debate could also suggest a question, something to ponder upon."

"Or an argument," TJ put in, staring blankly at the table, "A fight." He glanced at Vince then back down at the table.

"That would seem more suitable considering our current relationship situation," Gretchen said, "You're thinking of an intellectual conversation, a deliberation about a certain topic or question, Mikey, usually ordained as a speech contest between skilled orators."

"He's not participating in one of those?" Mikey asked.

"Not that we know of," Gretchen sighed.

"Maybe it's talking about the fight we're all having," Vince spoke up. He'd been silent ever since the fight with TJ, thinking about the things TJ had said as well as about Spinelli. "Gus wanted us all to sort out our problems," Vince continued, "Maybe it's just saying that it's no use. He won't succeed in getting us all to forgive one another."

"That makes sense," Gretchen agreed, and then pointing to the napkin where Vince's message was written down, "Then what does this mean? Vince will lose the game."

"Maybe it's talking about my basketball game in a few days," Vince shrugged, "I don't know."

"That's not what his message said," TJ spoke up, "It said 'Vince is going to lose the game.' If we're trying to find a hidden message in the wording, then we need to get it correct." Gretchen scribbled out the message and re-wrote the correct one.

"Alright, Vince _is going to _lose the game," Gretchen read off.

"That just makes it sound more like it's talking about my basketball game," Vince cried, exasperated. "Why are we looking at the words, the message is not going to make sense, no matter what!" He picked up one of the envelopes, scattering the pieces of paper that were Spineill's message and throwing the envelope across the table. It only caused another slip of paper to flutter out, falling softly to the ground. Gretchen bent, picking it up.

"I thought I emptied that envelope," Gretchen said, shocked. It was another small torn piece of paper. She held it up for the boys to see. There were only two words scribbled on it. 'Too late.'

"I really don't like the sounds of that," Mikey mumbled. There was a crack outside, the sound of thunder in the distance that caused the gang to jump. Gretchen glanced at the clock then stood up, gathering the papers and envelopes.

"I have to go," she told them, "I completely forgot the reason I came back to this godforsaken town." She made her way to the door, looking over her shoulder and saying, "I think that, even if we don't want to admit it, this has something to do with everybody whose name was on that pact being in town. I suggest you call them and find out if any of them received a mysterious brown envelope as well."

"That sounds like an idea," TJ nodded.

"I also suggest you start with Menlo. He's the only one we have a definite number for. The school. If you contact him, he may have information of how to get a hold of everyone else," Gretchen opened the door calling to them one last time before she left, "Don't mention Mary Anna."

"I have to get to basketball practice," Vince said, making his way to the door as well. TJ met his eyes, both staring at one another, cold and dark. There was a warning written in TJ's glare. Don't go looking for Spinelli.

"Theodore and I will call Menlo," Mikey seethed, obviously not happy with everyone bailing. Gus was missing, wasn't that important? Vince nodded, leaving as well. Finally, it was only Mikey and TJ once more. They were silent for a long time, Mikey tapping the tabletop and TJ laying his head down, it hurt after Spinelli had punched him. Mikey looked at the young man, the angry look in his eyes softening. The words TJ had said rang clear in his head. Even after everything they'd been through, TJ still thought of his friends first. Or his former friends as they were now. TJ had wanted someone to be there for them, because he couldn't be. Someone to keep the gang together, something that had always been TJ's job, but couldn't be anymore as far as TJ was concerned.

"I wasn't good enough," Mikey sighed finally. TJ glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but said nothing. Mikey took this as a cue to continue. "I wasn't strong enough. I guess I was too foolhardy, not trusting enough." He laughed slightly, sadly, "I wasn't you."

"Lucky..." TJ mumbled, his voice muffled by his arms.

"It didn't make me lucky, TJ!" Mikey snapped, tears forming in the large young man's eyes. It hurt him so much to see the once confident; red capped young man to look so broken. Mikey had imagined TJ as an evil boy satisfied with what he'd done, but now that image was shattering, not holding up against the deadened man before him. The truth was so hard to see; yet it was right there in front of him. TJ hadn't been evil, he had been caring, his thoughts still for his friends and their well-being. The truth hurt so much, because the lies didn't include this shell of a man that was once the cocky TJ Dettwieler Mikey had known, admired, and truly loved, "I couldn't keep us together...if it had been you..."

"Yeah, a great job I did of keeping us together!" TJ shouted, lifting his head and turning an angry glare on Mikey, "The one girl I ever loved...the only girl that ever existed to me...I even succeeded in pushing her away! You're lucky you're not me. I screw everything up. I made her cry, Mikey...I hurt her..." TJ buried his head in his arms again, breathing softly, silently.

Mikey lifted a hand, moving it reluctantly towards TJ, but pulled it back again. Everything he'd thought he'd known, everything he'd decided about this young man before him was changing again. He wasn't evil...he was sad, pathetic, and in a great deal of pain. Mikey shook his head, feeling a knot form in his throat. This young man before him, TJ, blamed himself for everything that had happened. And when he'd needed his friends most, to bring back the kind, caring, and cheerful boy, they turned on him and only confirmed what he thought. That he was to blame. Mikey looked at his hand. He'd failed. He wasn't the good soul he imagined himself to be. If his friends had been wrong, he had been wrong as well. This hand, Mikey knew, could heal age-old wounds...if he could just reach forward, reach out to this pained young man...no, this old friend. He let his hand fall forward, touching TJ's shoulder and massaging gently. The touch seemed foreign to TJ and he lifted his head slightly looking quizzically at the larger young man.

"I don't blame you, TJ," Mikey managed to force out, "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I failed you." The words brought confused tears to TJ's eyes, his lips forming the word 'why', but the word itself never escaping his throat. "I wasn't a very good friend, TJ," Mikey continued, tears streaming down his own cheeks, he met TJ's eyes with a sincere and intense gaze, "Will you give me another chance?"

"You don't get it, Mikey," TJ whispered, sobbing slightly, "I don't deserve your friendship. I'm a bad person. I'm a murderer."

"No, TJ," Mikey soothed, "If what happened to Mary Anna can be called murder, then we are all murderers. And murderers are more than capable of being friends with murderers; otherwise they would be very lonely. But we are not murderers, TJ, we are imprudent children. You said that I should have been the one to guide the others after it happened. But I would have led them astray as I went astray. Can we please be friends again, and set right what was wronged long ago? I want to be on the right path again." TJ stared for a long time at the man before him. Tall, still slightly bulky, with messy blonde hair and blue eyes, that were hardened over time before, but now softened giving him the same look he'd held in his youth. TJ nodded. It was all he could ask for at that moment. A friend. Mikey took the smaller man into a hug, comforting and sympathetic.

"I'm sorry," TJ whispered, as Mikey released him from the embrace. "I've been hard to deal with for a long time."

"I understand TJ. I'll forgive you if you can forgive me," Mikey laughed, patting TJ's shoulder. TJ stared at the large hand for a time, unsure what to say or do. "TJ," Mikey started, "It's Spinelli, isn't it?" TJ nodded. "I think you better tell me what's been happening with you two," Mikey said, "From the beginning." TJ nodded again. It was a long story. He'd been with Spinelli for a long time. And it was a hard story to tell. But TJ knew he could tell it to Mikey, because Mikey _was_ his friend.

"We started dating at the end of 6th grade..." TJ began, his voice trembling as he recalled the past events that had been his life with Spinelli. He told of his doubts, about himself and his relationship with Spinelli. He told of his failures, in his career and his life in general. He told of Spinelli's gym buddies and friends in New York, not leaving out Jocko's surprised shock that this "lump" TJ was dating the stunning Ashley Spinelli. He told of the lies he was always telling Spinelli, about how he loved his job, how his life was perfect, how he was fine. He told of Vince and the kiss that was shared with Spinelli. He told of how beautiful Spinelli was, how perfect and sweet, and how hideous and repugnant he was. He told of Spinelli's brother and family, and how he wasn't important enough for her to tell her parents about. He told of how he dealt with the underlying knowledge that he was to blame for the death of a little girl, by burying it deep down in his heart and letting it fester. He told of how he was afraid that Spinelli would hate him if she ever figured out that Mary Anna really was his fault. And he told of how he feared Spinelli did hate him, or at least, didn't love him as much as she claimed to, that she only felt an obligation to stay by his side. When he was finished telling the story, Mikey only stared silently, somewhat understanding the part he'd played in feeding TJ's doubts and uncertain of what to say. He couldn't completely comprehend the feelings that TJ had. He'd never been so deeply in love with someone. TJ buried his head in his arms again.

"Do you understand now?" TJ murmured.

"No," Mikey retorted, "I can't understand. You expect her to hate you, when once you couldn't understand why one young boy simply didn't like you."

"It's easy, Mikey," TJ chuckled morbidly, "I didn't hate myself back then."

"TJ..."

"What? I can't hate myself? Were you not there? Did you not see Spinelli's face?"

"I'm trying to help you," Mikey started.

"I don't want to be helped, Mikey. I want to hate myself, because I need to," TJ shrugged, "I can't hate Spinelli...I could never hate her...no matter what she did. I can be mad at her, but I'll always love her more than anything. I already hate Vince; I don't think I can hate him more than I do...and I don't want to. I have to hate myself."

"No, you don't, TJ," Mikey attempted, but faltered. He didn't know how to help the guy. He patted his shoulder again before standing up and heading behind the counter of Kelso's. "I'll call Menlo. I think I saw a phone book back here."

-0-0-0-0-

Gus could hear the wind outside. He knew he was in a building, that much he could tell, and that he wasn't alone. But no matter how he called out, no matter how he cried, pleaded, talked, there came no answer. He could tell, most definitely, that he was by water. The rain had stopped some time ago, he couldn't hear it anymore. But he could hear the echo accompanied with water. He recalled the lake, secluded in Third Street Park. There was an old boathouse that no one used anymore. Could that be where he was? He could hear water dripping around him, the squick, squick was driving him crazy. And the giggling...that random, occasional giggling.

"Please..." Gus whimpered, "I know you're there...what do you want from me?" A slight laugh. "Say something..." he cried. He could feel someone move behind him, cold metal press against his cheek, and the crack of a flame burning next to his cheek. The heat was intense, scathing, eating into his flesh. Sweat dribbled down from his forehead, mingling with partially realized tears. "If you want to kill me, just do it," he stuttered, mustering his courage. He didn't want to die. He was married, something he hadn't told the gang, and his wife was pregnant. He hadn't known how to tell them. He'd brought his family back to the small town, remembering all the good qualities it had held. He'd wanted his baby to have a nice place to grow up. So it could go to Third Street Elementary and have adventures there like he had.

The pain was unbearable, pressed against Gus's cheek. The skin began to boil, reddening from the heat. Finally, the flame flickered and died. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself elsewhere, anywhere.

"Please..." he begged, "What do you want with me?" His companion in the darkness moved away, he could hear her, for the laughter suggested a young girl, cross the room. There was shuffling, and a scratchy sound filled the room, followed by music. An old folk tune that Gus didn't recognize. It had to be a record playing. Gus struggled against his bonds. Someone was singing along with the music, but he could barely hear their voice over the acoustics squealing from the record. His cheek was stinging, still boiling even though the flame was gone. He could hear rapid motion near and around him. He supposed that his company was dancing.

The girl came back up beside Gus, standing in front of him. He couldn't make out her face, but he could feel locks of hairbrush against his face, and he caught the scent of her body. He smelled like smoldering.

"They'll come for you," he could barely hear the whisper. It was so soft, so silent, that he couldn't even tell the gender or if he recognized it. A rough hand lifted his shirt, pressing a steel bar against his exposed flesh. The bar was almost like fire itself, scorching and welding his skin. He cried out, unable to hold in the pain, squirming beneath the hot grasp of the metal rod, his bonds holding him securely in place. The bar was pulled away, but it continued to burn. His shirt fell down, pressing against the injured flesh and increasing the pain. He gasped. "Question is, will you be here when they come?" Gus didn't like the sounds of that. He felt the girl walk away from him.

Gus attempted to undo his bonds, but it was useless. He was stuck. He knew who she meant by 'they'. The gang. They would come for him, because they always did what was right. And saving him was right. At least, that was how they would see it. He just wished they would hurry and come. He worried about Kelso's too. When he'd returned to the town, the first place he'd gone was to see old man Kelso. But Kelso was in a tight position. His business was struggling to survive, what with bigger shopping areas and restaurants coming to the town, things were difficult. Gus had agreed to go into business with Kelso, putting in an investment. He worked alongside Kelso to keep the store running, but the old man had been ill lately. Gus agreed to take over the shop and watch it until the man was better. When the gang came into town, he shut the store down that afternoon so they could talk. But who would lock up Kelso's that night, and who would open it in the morning? If no one was there, the store would shut down and lose much needed business.

Gus sighed, giving up and hanging his head down. His wife, Teresa, would be worried. She had a doctor's appointment the next morning that Gus was supposed to take her to. No, he told himself. He couldn't give up. He had to get out of this situation. He had to get back to his wife. He had to get back to his child. He had to make the gang see how ridiculous their hate for each other was. He heard the door scrape open, "You're not the one I want. There's someone else I want to suffer so much more than you," the girl said, before shutting the door again. She was gone. His heart leapt into his throat at that. If he wasn't the one she wanted, who was? Was she going to get the one she really wanted?

-0-0-0-0-

Mikey found the number for Menlo's house with ease. He was going to try the school, but TJ pointed out that it was probably closed by then. On the fifth ring, someone answered.

"Mmph..." came a voice through the line, "Hello?" Menlo's voice was unmistakable, still sharp and snooty, though a bit on the tired side.

"Menlo?" Mikey questioned though, still not certain if the man on the other end really was the small, well-dressed fourth grader he'd once known.

"Yes? If this is another telemarketer, I shall have the police trace this line and apprehend you," Menlo snapped.

"This isn't a telemarketer," Mikey said softly, "They'll be no need for any of that. This is Mikey...Mikey Blumberg." The other end was silent. "Menlo? Are you still there?"

"Yes," Menlo replied quietly, "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"I know what time it is...but we have to talk. It's important," Mikey replied, glancing at TJ who was still sitting at the table, head lying down, only partially listening to Mikey.

"About?"

"Well...I..." Mikey hadn't really planned on what he was going to say. He couldn't just outright ask Menlo about the letters, could he?

"Blumberg, need I remind you that we were never actually friends, and, with that fact in mind, we really wouldn't have any touching reunions or long, drawn out conversations to catch up on each others lives. Now, if you don't mind, I have to work early in the morning so..." TJ took the phone from Mikey, who hadn't even noticed the young man make his way over.

"Menlo, shut up. We're calling to ask about an odd brown envelope with a cryptic message inside. Did you get one, or not?" TJ asked coldly.

"Ah...who is this?" Menlo asked.

"Dettwieler." Silence on Menlo's part again.

"I did."

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli awoke wrapped in covers, lying on a lumpy bed. She was still in her brother's room, still wearing his large garments. She glanced at the clock, groggily. It was late, almost two in the morning and her brother was nowhere to be seen. She stumbled from the bed, making her way to the bathroom. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror she sighed. She looked like hell. Her eyes were red, puffy, her lips cracked and chapped. Her hair was a mess of tangles, sticking up in places and falling about her face. She turned the faucet on, splashing water on her face. She looked back in the mirror, her face soaked and dripping wet. Maybe she could talk to TJ. She could always talk to him before. She touched her damp lips. Vince had kissed her. She had been kissed by Vince. It hadn't been horrible. She dried her face, new tears threatening to form. It hadn't been TJ.

Why was TJ acting like this? Why did he turn on her like this? Spinelli walked out of the bathroom. Where was Joey? She looked about the room. There was a phone on the nightstand. She wondered if she could call Francis. He always knew what to say. There was a piece of paper next to the phone on the nightstand. Her name was written at the top. Spinelli picked it up, recognizing her brother's chicken scratch right away.

"Ashley, I'm going to take care of things. Joey...." Spinelli read aloud. Take care of what things?

* * *

END A/N: I chose Mikey to be the first to break the ice because he's such an open-minded character I thought he would be quicker to rethink his judgement than the others.

Please review, and excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

Thanks for reading.


	11. What We Can't Go Back From

A/N: Okay, in this chapter, we really don't get anywhere...okay, we kind of do...TJ does something that he really can't undo, which is where we get the title from.

I was dissapointed that so few people reviewed the last chapter, only my dedicated TheNextPoliticalDynasty, and xXxSarahxXx reviewed, whom I love and thank profusely.

I'm also not certain if this is rated "R" material or not, because it won't get much worse from what's in this chapter. I'm changing it back to "PG-13", but if anyone feels that it should be "R", tell me and give me sufficient reason, please.

Here it is I can't go back from updating...would you really want me to? ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 11: What We Can't Go Back From 

Vince made his way out of the gym, waving good-bye to some of his teammates. He hadn't done so well at practice, his mind on everything that was going on.

"Hey, LaSalle," the coach called after him. He stopped, turning to look at the plump elder man. He was short, stocky, with graying hair wearing dark sunglasses. The man could yell and demanded respect from all of his team, despite being half their size and strength.

"Yeah, coach?" Vince said, acknowledging him.

"What's wrong, kid?" Coach asked, "You weren't on your game today."

"I've just got a lot on my mind is all. I'll be ready to shoot baskets at the real deal though," Vince answered.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay in the hotel with the rest of the guys, clear your mind? You're my ace in the hole, Vince. I need you at your best game-night. You're my star player," Coach said.

"No. My parents are thrilled that I'm staying with them so long. My usual visits are so short. You know, I get there with just enough time to chat about little things, the weather and stuff, and then I have to hop back on a plane to get to the games," Vince replied, "It's just hard being back in my hometown is all. Seeing old friends..."

"It's a girl, isn't it?"

"Yeah, something like that..." Vince shrugged, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. He thought of Spinelli, of kissing her. It had been everything he'd imagined it to be. Soft and sweet. There was a slight taste of salt on her lips. He wouldn't mind kissing her again. But the way she'd reacted, the way she'd chased after TJ. The way she'd run out of Kelso's. Vince was worried about her, but he was also worried about the answer she'd give. And then there was Gus's mysterious disappearance, and the letters being taken. Something bad was going down. Something having to do with Mary Anna. Something Vince had wanted to separate himself from but was now smack dab in the middle of.

Coach patted Vince's shoulder. "Women are like air," he said, "You need them, but you don't have to run around searching for 'em, because they're everywhere. Don't let one girl get you down, LaSalle, there's plenty more fish in the sea."

"Thanks, coach," Vince muttered. It wasn't comforting. He wasn't sure he wanted another girl. The fact was, Vince had tried getting girlfriends, but he could never seem to keep one. It was because of his aggressiveness, his inability to control his anger. He lashed out at everything and anything around him. One of his girlfriends, he'd attacked, nearly hit, came at her violently only to realize what he was doing and come back to his senses at the very last moment. Spinelli, as he remembered her, was just as angry and forceful as he felt all the time now. She would beat the snot out of a kid just because he got in her way when she was in a bad mood. She was strong, not like the women Vince had dated, and wouldn't put up with his crap. They'd exchange swings and there'd be no need to talk things out, because Spinelli didn't talk things out. She lived by the credo 'hit first, take names later for record purposes', and Vince respected her for that. He rubbed his stomach, recalling Spinelli's fist sailing into it. It still hurt.

"Get some sleep tonight, eat a big meal," Coach said, patting Vince's shoulder again before turning and walking away.

"Bye, coach," Vince sighed, walking away down the street. He hadn't driven to practice that day; it was only a short distance from his parents' house. He wanted to walk anyways it was a nice night.

The streets were empty, and everything was silent. It still smelled like rain. He made his way down the street, folding his arms across his chest, though it wasn't cold. Who did TJ think he was, saying all those things? How could he hurt Spinelli like that and she still love him? And where the hell did he get off saying Vince didn't know Spinelli?

Vince kicked a rock on the sidewalk, watching it bound away. He heard the crack of thunder in the distance, although the storm had passed hours before. He felt a chill wind creep up behind him; a slight sound of...was that laughter? He heard the splinter before he felt it, something...like a bowling ball, ramming into his backside, knocking him to the ground in a great deal of pain. He tried to push himself up, off of the sidewalk, heard the thunder roar in the sky once more above him. He coughed, blood sputtering from his mouth, trailing down to his chin, as a black veil of unconsciousness swept across his eyes. The last things he knew before he slipped completely into the darkness were warm hands propping him up against a brick wall and a familiar voice calling his name.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ made his way down the street in no particular direction. He'd told Mikey that he wasn't certain if he was in the right mindset to drive, so being the friend Mikey was, he offered to drive TJ home. Of course, TJ didn't want to go home either, so he handed Mikey the keys to the rental car and left. He had a lot to think about, but his mind wasn't concentrating properly. So he stopped at the grocery store and bought a large bottle of whiskey thinking that maybe that would clear things up. The world kept blurring before him. It was just now sinking in, that it was over between Spinelli and him. That with his own mouth, his own words, he broke up with her. He remembered when he'd realized how he felt about Spinelli. He'd known how Vince had felt back then, because Vince had told him in the middle of fourth grade.

The wind picked up, ruffling TJ's hair as he crossed the street to the park. He wiped his arm across his eyes. When Vince had told TJ that he liked Spinelli, in more than a friend way, it had felt like someone had punched him hard in the chest. He felt like he couldn't breathe, couldn't hear, couldn't speak. Of course, he didn't know at that time how much he really cared about Spinelli. In his mind, he felt as though Vince wanted to take away TJ's friendship with Spinelli, and in a way, Vince wanted to lessen his friendship with TJ as well. TJ didn't want to lose two of his best friends. So he did the only thing he could think of at the time. Sabotaged Vince from telling Spinelli how he felt by advising Vince to ignore the feeling. Telling him that maybe it would go away. TJ spent most of his boyhood in denial. He too ignored his feelings. He pushed aside that ping of jealousy whenever Spinelli and Vince would play tetherball, or one-on-one basketball, and especially, when they'd arm-wrestle. Or when they'd have private conversations or if she'd laugh at something Vince said. That's how it all became obvious to him. TJ began to realize how he felt about Spinelli. How he'd always, deep down, felt about her.

So, TJ realized his feelings, and pushed them down as deep as they would go in his heart. He would look in the mirror in the morning, run his hand through his hair, slip his cap on, suck in his gut, and hate how he looked. Spinelli would never want him anyways, were his thoughts. Spinelli would want Vince, tall, slim, charming and attractive. Then TJ would shake his head; remind himself that they were just kids and shouldn't be feeling that way. That he was a boy and Spinelli was...well...she was a girl, despite how she denied it, and they were supposed to find the other repulsive, or, as they were quite immature, yucky.

TJ took another drink from the bottle he held in his hand. His face was flushed now and he was a bit on the drunk side. He stumbled, trying to step up on the curb, falling flat on his face and scraping his chin. Okay, he was a lot on the drunk side. He heard the sound of footsteps and saw two pointy-toes of purple shoes stop in front of him. He looked up, but wasn't certain he recognized the woman before him...she looked somewhat familiar.

"Are you alright?" she asked. TJ nodded, before passing out.

-0-0-0-0-

Gretchen climbed up the stairs from her basement, where her old lab was set up, to the front door of her father's house. When she swung the brown painted door open, the sight in front of her was surprising, to say the least. The short black-haired woman looked as though she'd had no sleep that night, with large puffy red bags beneath her eyes. She seemed to be engulfed by her clothing, a large gray sweater and even larger jeans, standing barefoot on the porch of the Grundler household. Her face was a frowning glower and her hair was an utter mess.

"Spinelli?" Gretchen questioned.

"Where's TJ?" Spinelli asked.

"I don't know. I left him at Kelso's with Mikey. What are you doing here? Have you any idea what time it is?" Gretchen demanded.

"It's late, I know," Spinelli mumbled, "But I..." Why was she here? With Joey gone, and the fight she'd had with TJ still brewing in her mind...she just didn't know where else to go. But she couldn't tell Gretchen that. She would rather dress in a frilly pink dress with toe-pinching high heels and walk down Main Street before giving Gretchen that kind of satisfaction. Gretchen crossed her arms in front of her chest, staring down condescendingly at Spinelli.

"My dad's out with his girlfriend, Priscilla or whatever her name is. You can come in," Gretchen said, opening the door slightly. It was a kind gesture that made Spinelli raise her eyebrow in suspicion. "I expect you're here to talk about what happened at Kelso's after you left. No, TJ did not relinquish any information on your fight, but I'm not stupid, I can deduct that it has something to do with Vincent." Spinelli sighed, making her way into the house. She hadn't been in it since they were ten. They'd had slumber parties there, exclusively girls only as Gretchen's mother wouldn't allow any boys to sleep over. Spinelli had come over often, especially after fights with TJ, whose house was her usual sanctuary. She'd cried when she'd learned Gretchen's parents had gotten a divorce, even though she hadn't been friends with Gretchen at the time. It just seemed like something important was ending; like the last nail in the coffin of everything that made sense in the world.

"Your dad painted the walls," Spinelli noticed as Gretchen closed the door gently behind her. She followed Gretchen into the living room. "And he got a new couch?"

"My mom took the old one when we moved out," Gretchen explained. They both sat together on the lumpy blue sofa.

"I'm sorry about your parents," Spinelli said, though it was a bit late for that kind of apology.

"I'm not," Gretchen shrugged, "I wanted out of here, it was the perfect chance. My parents weren't in love anymore; they just went through the motions. It wasn't like they had horrible fights or anything; they were just...acquaintances, like they hardly knew each other. They slept in different beds for crying out loud. They weren't husband and wife. It was good that they got the divorce."

"They seemed right for each other, though," Spinelli replied sorrowfully.

"It got to a point where I would want to scream at them to do something, to say something to one another...to fight," Gretchen laughed ironically, "I mean, when you love someone, you fight. It's healthy for a relationship..." Gretchen trailed off, seeing Spinelli draw her legs up, burying her face. "Sorry," Gretchen mumbled.

"It's not your fault," Spinelli whispered, "We're not right for each other..."

"And what about Vincent?"

"He kissed me..." Spinelli explained, "Told me he was in love with me. TJ saw everything."

"Inevitable," Gretchen said casually.

"What do you mean?" Spinelli demanded, lifting her head to stare at the redhead beside her.

"I knew, the minute I saw you, Vince, and TJ all here, that it was bound to happen. It was obvious that they were both smitten with you all through grade school, and from the looks on both their faces neither had gotten over it," Gretchen clarified, "I knew that something like this was going to happen, especially when we learned that you and TJ were an item. You could already see the jealousy in Vince's eyes and the gears in his head ticking, considering the benefits of telling you how he felt, or claims to feel."

"How come I wasn't aware of this?" Spinelli asked.

"Because you're oblivious to other people's feelings," Gretchen explained unhesitatingly.

"I am...what?"

"Well, Spinelli, you tend to be unaware, ignorant of what others around you are going through or feeling. It's not that you're cruel or anything, I don't mean that in the least. You just don't notice. I guess because you yourself hardly know how you feel half the time. I mean," Gretchen continued, "You didn't notice how they felt while we were in school."

"I...well..." Spinelli stared at her hands blankly. What was she supposed to say? Was Gretchen right? Did she not notice how others felt?

"You know that you have to settle this and give Vince an answer, right?" Gretchen went on.

"How can I give Vince an answer?" Spinelli snapped, "He shouldn't have said those things. He shouldn't have kissed me! He had no right to mess up my relationship with TJ!"

"From the sounds of what TJ said, your relationship was already rather...um...messed up."

Spinelli sighed, wrapping her arms about her legs and burying her face deeper between them. Why did everything have to be so goddamned complicated? She wanted things simple again. Like in New York, where if her and TJ got into a fight, she could easily end it with threat of pummeling him, or just by starting another fight, or even simply pouting and questioning why he wasn't agreeing with her.

"Gus is gone," Gretchen said.

"That had nothing to do with what we were talking about," Spinelli mumbled, annoyed at the change of subject, her voice stifled by the large sweater.

"I know. But I thought you would want to know and I couldn't figure out another way to tell you," Gretchen replied.

"Gretchen...why did we stop being friends?" Spinelli asked.

"What?"

"Well...we never really had a reason to hate each other. I...just wanted to know is all."

"I don't know, Spinelli," Gretchen sighed, leaning back into the couch and closing her eyes, "It's just...everything was so complicated and I was so afraid...so confused. I didn't know if I was supposed to hate you or not...so I just went with everyone else...."

"But how could you...I don't understand..."

"It was easy. I was already so envious of you," Gretchen shrugged. Spinelli turned her face to Gretchen quizzically.

"You envied me? Why?"

"Because, Spinelli. You were pretty, and tough. You had two guys vying for your attention, even if they didn't realize they were competing for you. They weren't the only ones either. As soon as we hit the adolescent age, when our hormones kicked in, guys wanted to hang out with you, be around you. You were strong and athletic; I was shy and quiet. I was smart, that's all anyone saw me as. Smart Girl," Gretchen felt the warmth of new tears trailing silently down her cheeks, "You would horse-around with the guys while I would stand back and watch. You didn't care what anyone thought of you. I hated that."

"I didn't know..."

"You couldn't have," Gretchen's eyes opened, anger-filled, "It wasn't as though you tried to keep our friendship alive. It was so easy for you to stop coming over, to stop calling, to stop saying 'hi' to me, to stop playing with me at recess. You never noticed when I disappeared into the library...you weren't there for me when my parents divorced...you didn't even acknowledge me then..." Her words choked in her throat, "Once upon a time, Spinelli, you were queen of a playground, ruling with an iron fist, and I was a pauper with a brain."

"Oh, hell, Gretchen. Is that the game you want to play? Well, I got one for you," Spinelli spat, "You never called me either, you never came over either, you never said 'hi' either or came and played with me at recess either. You never noticed when I stopped coming to school everyday; you never noticed when I started drinking. And don't give me that crap about how I wasn't there for you when your parents split, because you sure as hell weren't there for me when my brother got sent back to jail, or when my grandmother passed away. You weren't there when I crashed my bike and ended up in the hospital for four fucking nights, because you were off happy and wonderful in the California sun, running away from your problems, acting as though they never existed! So don't feed me that shit, because I'm holding just as many trump cards as you."

"Spinelli..." Gretchen faltered, tears flowing freely now, "You're so impossible. I can't talk to you...I can't understand why we were ever friends in the first place...you're such a bitch..."

"I may be a bitch," Spinelli muttered, pulling herself off the couch, "But you're a bitch too...and you're the worst kind of bitch at that...you're a fucking, know-it-all, naïve, ignorant, conceited, doesn't-know-she's-a-bitch bitch. I'm not the one that's oblivious, Gretch, you are."

"Why did you come here, Spinelli?" Gretchen demanded, her voice low and controlled.

"I..." Spinelli clenched her hands into tight fists held at her side, gritting her teeth. She didn't know. "Because I'm a fucking sucker for punishment, apparently," Spinelli sighed, turning to leave.

"Gus is missing," Gretchen called after her, calmly and silently as though it were an answer to a deep and foreboding question.

"Why do you keep saying that?" Spinelli asked, trying to compose herself, but nearly shouting the question.

"Because he is. Because things have gotten serious," Gretchen explained monotonously, "I'm trying not to, but I feel that the worst has befallen him. And I think that the writer of our letters, if in fact it is one person, has taken things to an extreme level, and that he or she is dangerous."

"Than you should contact the police, tell them something happened to Gus," Spinelli replied.

"That would violate the pact."

"You think this has something to do with..."

"I know it does. I just got a call from Mikey. He contacted as many of the pact signers as he could. They all received similar brown envelopes. I haven't had a chance to analyze them, but I will tomorrow at Kelso's," Gretchen told her.

"Screw the pact. Gus is gone," Spinelli began, "We go to the police."

"No," Gretchen replied, "We can't make that decision without all the other pact signers, it wouldn't be fair to them."

"We made the decision to bring it up again without their permission," Spinelli snarled, "I don't know about you, Gretchen, but I'm not interested in standing around and waiting for some psycho to come for me."

"We still don't know for certain Gus's fate, and we haven't given up on him," Gretchen retorted, "The police won't do anything no matter what we tell them. We'd need sufficient evidence of some sort of foul play to begin with. Therefore, I suggest we wait. I'm not completely ruling out contacting the police, and I'm not for sitting around and waiting for the so-called psycho to take us away to whatever unhappy punishment that he or she has concocted for us."

"Then _what_ do you call _this_?" Spinelli cried, waving her arms about.

"Lack of options," Gretchen shrugged. Spinelli made her way to the front door, receiving no more protests or calls from Gretchen. She left the house behind. That house that she had played in often as a child. That house, which she had loved to visit. That house that had been a huge part of her childhood. That house that she couldn't stand to be in anymore.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ opened his eyes, the world a blur. He searched for his bottle of whiskey, found it sitting nearby him. He was lying in a bed, though he was still too out of it to question why. He grabbed the bottle, downing a great deal of it before setting it back down. He felt someone stir around him, looked about. He wasn't alone, but he couldn't focus, everything was still so contorted from his drunken stupor. Warm hands touched his sides, lips brushing against his own. He couldn't understand what was going on. His mind flew to one thought.

"...Spi...nelli..." he murmured. Those warm hands took the sides of his face almost roughly, lips kissing him.

"I can be her, if you want," a small whisper caressed his ear, "I can be better than her." He didn't understand what was going on, but he didn't argue with it. It was all he needed to be convinced, to fool himself that this woman, though she smelt and felt nothing like the woman he loved, was indeed her. Deep inside of him, he knew that this woman wasn't Spinelli, and could never replace her, but he still continued. Offering kisses, caressing her, removing her clothes. She was larger than Spinelli in areas, more voluptuous, and didn't taste as sweet. She was rough were Spinelli wasn't, hard where Spinelli was soft, indifferent where Spinelli was loving. Somewhere, inside of TJ, he knew that that this would only hurt Spinelli, but he didn't care at that moment, he didn't care about anything at that moment. If this woman could pretend, than so could he. Besides, he was too drunk to care.

* * *

END A/N: Okay...hm...Spinelli's mouth is getting pretty foul, but she's a little on the pissed and cranky side, so can you please forgive her? And TJ...bad TJ...you understand what happened there, right? Should I start lining up suspects now? This story is getting so long... 

PLEASE **_REVIEW_**. I CAN'T SAY THIS ENOUGH. **_REVIEWS_ **GET ME TO KEEP UPDATING AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF MY STORY. SO PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE **_REVIEW_**. EVEN IF YOU THOUGHT MY STORY WASN'T VERY GOOD I'D APPRECIATE KNOWING WHY NOT SO I CAN IMPROVE UPON THAT AND MAKE IT A MUCH BETTER READ FOR YOU. OR EVEN IF YOU THINK YOU HAVE NOTHING OF VALUE TO WRITE, OR THAT YOU'RE OPINION WON'T MATTER, THIS ISN'T THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION, I CARE WHAT THE PEOPLE THINK...oooo, involving politics, cheap shot...**_REVIEW_**! ...I hope that gets your attention...

And thank you for reading my story and please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, though you could point them out to me in a **_REVIEW_**...ahem...that's the last one, I swear.

_**REVIEW**!_ I lied.


	12. The Day After or A SERIOUS Hangover

A/N: Gotta hurry and write this...gotta go to work...damn work...um...this is the next chapter. Lot's more talking, a little action. More fighting, of course.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, my dedicated reviewers, TheNextPoliticalDynasty and xXxSarahxXx whom I love so very much, and the first time reviewer weaslypotter, who I would like to extend an extra thanks for her long, kick ass review (I'm flattered you feel so strongly about my fanfic) and for letting me know that my settings were blocking anonymous reviews, which I didn't know. It's changed, so you can reviews logged in or not weaslypotter.

Here's chapter 12 (I can't believe I made it this far...) ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 12: The Day After or A **_Serious_** Hangover

The room was blurry, and too bright. That was the first thing TJ noticed, that and the severe headache pounding against his skull. He was lying in a makeshift bed, that much was certain, and he had no idea where the hell he was. He tried to recall the events from the night before, but was drawing a blank. He pulled himself out of the blanket, looking about the room with squinting eyes; thinking maybe there was a way to turn off the light but unfortunately discovering it was the sun beating in through a window, which was a big 'No can do'. He rolled onto his back. His clothes were discarded off the side of the bed. He wasn't dressed. He'd slept with someone the night before, that much was certain. Who was she? He couldn't remember. He tried to picture her face, but he couldn't see it. All he knew was that he slept with someone other than Spinelli. Did they use protection? He felt a groan growing in the pit of his stomach. They most likely hadn't. Unless the girl was using the pill...but then there are the diseases...

TJ sat up, though instantly finding himself burying his head in his hands, nearly blacking out. He'd drunk a lot the night before, and TJ wasn't a drinker. He would have a glass of wine or a bottle of beer every now and then but Spinelli was the partier, not him. He reached for his pants, pulling them on with a great amount of pain and an exhausting struggling. He had to get out of...wherever he was. The woman he'd spent the night with seemed to be nowhere in sight, and TJ didn't think he wanted to see her. It was hard enough having to deal with the fact that he had spent the night with someone other than Spinelli, but to put a face to that person...he didn't think he could deal with it. Besides, what kind of person took a drunken stranger off of the street and slept with him?

There was a door at the other side of the room. TJ grabbed the remainder of his clothing and made his way shakily towards it, the only escape he saw in the room. He could barely stand. How could people like drinking if they had to put up with _this_ afterwards, he wondered. With an unsteady sway and a slow pace he finally reached the door, clutching his head. There was a note attached to the wooden slab. TJ looked at it, feeling something inside of him sink.

"TJ, Please stay here, I'll be back soon," was the message. TJ ripped the note down, stuffing it in his pocket and opening the door, stumbling out while attempting to pull his shirt on over his head. He tried to remember if he had told the stranger his name last night, but couldn't recall doing so. He didn't recall saying much of anything, just doing the deed and passing out afterwards. That meant only one possible thing, whoever he'd spent the night with knew him...but who? And if she knew him, she had to know Spinelli. He looked around the area. It was the park; he recognized it right away. He was at the old boathouse, it hadn't been in use for a long time, but thought nothing of it. Probably just the spot his "partner" last night chose. He started making his way down the street, shielding his eyes from the sun and wishing he'd brought sunglasses. He stopped, his eyes falling on a form sitting at a bench by the lake; a person that TJ knew all too well. That person was watching TJ with dark and intense eyes, and TJ felt his heart sink, knowing what was coming.

"Have a nice night?" came the question, as the figure stood, walking over to TJ, standing in front of him.

"Can we do this later, Joey?" TJ asked, "I mean, I don't feel well right now."

"You sure you don't feel well? Because after the night you've had, I'm sure you'd feel great," Joey snarled. TJ sighed, lowering his eyes. So Joey knew. And he probably saw. "She was a pretty woman," Joey continued, "You been cheating with her on my sister all along."

"No, Joey," TJ sighed, exasperated, "I don't even know who she was. I was drunk, alright, and I'd appreciate if you didn't go running and telling her about this."

"Why shouldn't I? Maybe it'll make her see that you really are a bastard and she'll forget about you."

"Because, Joey, I don't want her to hear it from someone, alright. I'll tell her," TJ argued.

"So you can lie about it? I don't think so," Joey replied.

"You don't get it," TJ shook his head, "You're never going to understand. You think you're the only one who cares about her. I was there, right beside her, while she grew up. We grew up together."

"That's bullshit...it means nothing..."

"It means everything. You and Vitto, weren't always there for her, no matter how much she loved you guys. But me, I was there. You guys didn't have to see her when she was sad, or mad, or embarrassed. You weren't there to face every little trial she went through in her life with her. I was. I'm not saying that it makes me better than you; I'm just saying that at some point, you are going to have to accept that I am in love with your sister. That I always have been. Do I have to spell it out for you? I - LOVE - YOU'RE - SISTER!"

"You love her so much, then why did you break up with her, send her home crying, sleep with some other woman right afterwards," Joey pressed, his hands balling into fists.

"Because Joey, don't you get it? Don't you understand?" TJ shouted, spreading his arms out, "I'm the biggest fucking idiot in the whole world!" He pointed to himself. "I had the love of my life and I blew it! I messed everything up! I pushed her away, I lied to her, I yelled at her, jumped down her throat, I sure as hell didn't treat her like I loved her more than life itself. And then, I saw her kissing Vince, or at least, that's what I thought I saw, but I didn't listen to her. I was too angry, too infuriated, that I broke up with her. So you know what, Joey, I want you to hit me. I want you to beat the crap out of me. Because I sure as hell deserve it."

"You want me to hit you," Joey questioned.

"Well sure. You're sister already did, but the pains starting to wear off," TJ shrugged, "So of course I want you to hit me, Joey. Don't I deserve it? I hurt her..." TJ trailed off, those emotions resurfacing, almost exemplified by what he'd done the night before, "I hurt her...I always hurt her..." Joey raised an eyebrow, loosening his fists. It wasn't what he'd expected. He'd expected TJ to cower in fear, to beg for mercy, to ask forgiveness for his sins and crimes against Joey's little sister. But...TJ was begging to be beaten, asking Joey to hit him, wanting the pain that Joey had set out to give him.

"This isn't right..." he muttered.

"You're not gonna hit me, are you?" TJ asked, dismayed.

"I was going to. But you ruined it," Joey snapped, "I really can't hit someone as pathetic as you. I mean, I guess you've already messed yourself up better than I ever could."

"Whatever..." TJ mumbled, making his way past, "I got to go figure out how to tell Spinelli what I did...or if I should just disappear from existence and never see her again. I mean; if I tell her, it'll only hurt her more." He sighed, slumping on the bench, "Maybe I shouldn't have pushed her to tell your guys's parents about us..." he said to himself, "Then I wouldn't have been so disappointed when she didn't and none of this would have ever happened."

Joey shook his head, turning away. "I won't tell my sister about what you did. But if you don't..."

"Thanks..."

"Whatever. Just consider yourself lucky I didn't kill you. She's upset. I guess, I can sort of see why. You've got a lot of history together," Joey shrugged, walking away, "I guess..."

TJ buried his head in his hands. He couldn't stay there, at the park. That woman was coming back and he didn't want to be there when she did. He got up, walking away. Maybe he'd go to Kelso's; Mikey said that everyone was meeting there to discuss the letters. Mikey had decided to stay the night at Kelso's, not knowing what to do, what with Gus gone. Maybe Gus'd show up as though nothing had happened and laugh it off. Maybe Spinelli would show up too, and forgive TJ for everything he'd done and they'd be better, they'd make up. Maybe the whole gang would enjoy a sundae together, like old times, while reminiscing about the past, like they should have been doing all along, not fighting. Maybe hell froze over last night.

-0-0-0-0-

Gretchen tapped the table at Kelso's, lightly strumming her fingers on the wood. Mikey was standing behind the counter talking in the phone. The door opened, and both looked to it as TJ stumbled in, slumped in a chair and slammed his head down on the table.

"Ow..." he groaned.

"TJ..." Mikey began, "Are you alright?"

"I have a serious hangover and Spinelli's brother wouldn't beat the crap out of me," TJ mumbled, "So, no, I'm not alright."

"You wanted Spinelli's brother to beat the crap out of you?" Gretchen asked, stunned at the entrance of her former leader and friend. TJ nodded his head as best he could with it resting on the table. "Why? Whatever purpose could that serve?" Gretchen pressed. TJ sighed.

"It would hurt. I deserve it," TJ explained as though it were obvious, he lifted his head, a red spot growing on his forehead, and looked about the room. "Where's Vince and Spinelli?" Then, mumbling under his breath, "Off making out..."

"I shouldn't be getting in the middle of this but..." Gretchen started.

"Then don't," TJ snapped.

"I feel I should say something, though."

"It's better if you don't."

"But I should..."

"I'm not listening."

"It's important that you know..."

"I don't want to."

"But I..."

"I'm in enough pain as it is."

"Spinelli came to my house last night, TJ!" Gretchen shouted, before he could protest anymore. She blinked her eyes several times, stunned at the raise in her own voice. Then, dropping her tone, she continued, "She looked worse than you do. She'd been crying. I don't think she would choose Vince over you."

"You don't understand, Gretchen," TJ hissed, narrowing his eyes at her, "I can't take her back, even if she does choose me. I'm not good enough for her. I've screwed things up for the last time; I'm not doing it again. I'm not going to let there be another chance for me to hurt her." He lowered his head back on the table, hiding his face in his arms. They were silent.

"Hello," Mikey said in the phone, turning away from the two sitting at the table, "Hi, Menlo? You coming? ...What do you mean no?" Gretchen and TJ perked up, eyeing Mikey on the phone. "It is important, Menlo...no...don't hang..." Mikey looked downcast. He put the phone back on its base and turned to his companions. "He hung up."

"He's not coming?" Gretchen questioned. Mikey nodded.

"He doesn't think the note means anything. He doesn't think it's important," Mikey explained. He joined them at the table, patting TJ on the back, knowing what was tearing at the young man's heart. Gretchen looked between the two, feeling left out from something.

"What's going on?" she inquired, cleaning her glasses carefully and trying not to appear too interested.

"We talked things out," Mikey explained, "What about you and Spinelli?"

"We got in a fight, called one another bitches, and went our separate ways," Gretchen said. TJ shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Spinelli and shrugged Mikey's hand off of him. He didn't deserve to be comforted. He was ashamed of himself as it was, but to accept sympathy when he was the one that was wrong? He couldn't do it. Gretchen replaced her glasses on her face and studied the table, "Is anyone coming."

"No," Mikey told her, sadly, "None of them are coming. They all called." Gretchen nodded.

"They're afraid of the answers," Gretchen concluded as though she'd expected this to happen.

"And what about Gus?" TJ mumbled.

"I can't think of anything to do about Gus..." Gretchen sighed, "We don't even know where to start..." The door to Kelso's swung open and a fiery eyed young woman marched in, her belly protruding out from obvious pregnancy, and her shoulder length brown hair splayed about her face.

"Where is Gus?" the woman demanded.

"Who are you?" TJ and Gretchen questioned in unison.

"Theresa...?" Mikey asked, looking the woman up and down, "Little Theresa LaMaize?"

"It's Theresa Griswold now, Mikey," the woman giggled, losing a bit of her edge. The three companions dropped their jaws.

"Excuse our shock, Theresa, but Gus never informed us that he was married," Gretchen stuttered, staring in disbelief, "Nor that he was expecting...a child?"

"It's a girl, but don't tell Gus, he doesn't want to know yet," Theresa giggled. The three stunned onlookers nodded, still gaping. They could hardly believe that this pretty young woman before them was once the small frail child known as Cornchip Girl. She had developed muscles, was still rather short, and had matured quite splendidly. She was wearing a pretty blue maternity dress, and smiling innocently.

"How did you...I mean, you moved away when you were in the third, or was it fourth grade?" TJ asked. Theresa laughed good-heartedly.

"Oh, how did I meet Gus again? While on a mission for the Peace Corp, he was traveling on a naval ship that I was stationed on. We started talking and didn't realize until after we'd hit it off and he asked me on a date, which led to us finally introducing ourselves formally, who the other was. But it's like he always says, if you're meant to be together, you'll find one another again," Theresa giggled. She accepted a hug from Mikey, who then held her away from him and looked her up and down.

"You look great," he told her.

"I'm not a little girl anymore," she agreed.

"So, Gus never did come home?" Gretchen spoke up bringing them back to the matter at hand.

"No, not last night. I needed him to take me to a doctor's appointment this morning, he's never late and he never misses my appointments. But he never showed up," Theresa shrugged, "I'm worried about him. He's always home by seven at the latest. I sat up all night waiting...he never came. I thought it might have to do with the storm last night, and that he'd show up as soon as it ended...and I waited."

"We were here with him last night during the storm," Gretchen explained, "The power went down so we went to find the back-up generator outside. He disappeared back there. We looked for him, all around the store, but he never showed up." Theresa nodded, all cheerfulness from her face fading into seriousness and fear.

"I want to go back there and look for myself," she said.

"I'll come with you," Mikey suggested, walking her out to the back. Gretchen and TJ sat in silence, Gretchen staring at TJ who in turn was staring at the table.

"I think that Spinelli and you..."

"I think you need to stay out of this, Gretchen," TJ shifted, laying his head down again, "Why do you care all of a sudden anyways?"

"Because you two were once my friends. I can't forget that I cared about you both, it's not that simple," she told him, looking away.

"But it's so simple to forget our friendships," TJ commented. Gretchen sighed.

"I thought you'd be easier to talk to than Spinelli. But you both go to the same topic. Why did our friendship break so easily when it was supposed to be stronger than metal?" Gretchen snarled, "Maybe our friendship wasn't so strong in the first place. Maybe, the foundation was covered in cracks and beneath the weight of Mary Anna's predicament, it shattered completely. Maybe...our friendship was flawed to begin with."

"I don't believe that," TJ argued, "I don't believe that in the least."

"We were too different, all of us, to ever really be friends," Gretchen continued.

"That's what made our friendship so strong," TJ protested, leaping to his feet, then having to grasp the table for support when his head gave way to wooziness, "We were all different, and we all loved each other for those differences."

"They got in the way."

"They made us stronger."

"They tore us apart!"

"They kept us together!" TJ turned away, walking across the floor than turning back again. "I though you were the smartest kid on the playground, and that alone was reason enough for me to want to hang out with you. I would hate to look at my friend and see a mirror image of myself. That's why I liked hanging out with all of you, you were all different and perfect the way you were."

"If you see such perfection in what we were, in who we all were, then why do you hate us? We haven't changed so much, have we?" Gretchen asked, staring him down.

"I don't hate any of you...except maybe Vince right now, but that's because of Spinelli for the most part," TJ sighed, he slumped back in his chair, "I'm just disappointed in all of you. I hate the way you're all acting towards each other. I hate that you turned on one another when you should have stuck beside each other and helped one another through what happened."

The door in the back opened and Mikey and Theresa stepped back into Kelso's. Theresa had tears in her eyes and Mikey wore a frown of concern.

"What did you find?" Gretchen questioned. Theresa held up the broken dark-rimmed frames that always adorned her beloved husband's face, only shards of the lenses remaining, jutting out from the frame. There was blood dried on the glasses as well.

"Gus said that he got this...letter...what's going on?" Theresa demanded, "Where's my husband?"

"Oh man," TJ muttered, "If the letters have anything to do with it...where's Vince?"

"You think he's next?" Mikey asked.

"There's got to be a reason that Gus's letter and Vince's disappeared that night. Where are the rest of the letters?" TJ looked to Gretchen who reached into her pocket and produced...one envelope. She dumped the contents on the tabletop.

"It's Spinelli's letter. The others were right here...I don't understand," she met TJ's eyes, "Do you think that this means that Mikey and I are the next targets?"

"Is someone going to explain this to me, or not?" Theresa asked.

"Something happened fifteen years ago that we were all involved in," TJ explained, turning to her, "And we think that has something to do with these letters and Gus's disappearance."

"I think you better tell me everything, from the beginning. Start, now," Theresa commanded, and they could clearly see the naval officer within her small, pregnant body.

-0-0-0-0-

Vince's eyes fluttered open as he looked about the room he was in. It was a hospital, that much he could tell. He looked around. There was a sleeping form by the window, sitting in a chair. A blonde young woman, hair falling about her face in a mess, sunglasses covering her eyes, designer clothing ruffled. Vince recognized her, but he couldn't remember from where at the moment. He pulled himself up, then immediately slipped back down. His back was covered in a bruise, he felt that already, and his head was pounding. He groaned.

"The doctor said the drugs would hit you hard, you should take it easy," a voice whispered. Vince looked to the young woman, now wide-awake and staring at him, sunglasses pushed up to the top of her head.

"Ashley A.?" Vince questioned.

"It's not Ashley A. anymore," she told him sheepishly, looking pointedly at the wedding ring on her finger.

"Oh," he said, "What are you doing here?"

"I saw you go down, last night. I didn't see who attacked you, whoever it was ran off. I called the ambulance," she explained, "I was walking to my hotel from...well, formerly Ashley Q...her place. It was such a nice night. That's when I saw you...well...I didn't know it was you until I got over there...and...you look good Vince, if you don't count the bruises from the beating you incurred last night."

"Thanks," he muttered, "I mean, for saving me."

"Whatever, it's no big deal...I mean, anyone would have done the same," she shrugged, "I mean, your life's a big deal...I didn't mean it wasn't...um...anyone could have..."

"But not just anyone would have sat here with me all night," he pointed out. She blushed, realizing what she'd done and how it looked.

"I felt like you should have someone waiting when you woke up. They couldn't get a hold of your parents," Ashley A. explained, "The line was always busy."

"I don't doubt they were calling everyone I knew, know, and ever came in contact with trying to hunt me down," Vince chuckled. He looked downcast then. They'd probably called Spinelli's house. Was Spinelli worried about him?

"What's wrong?" Ashley A. asked.

"Nothing, just thinking about some things," Vince shrugged, closing his eyes and sinking deeper into the stiff hospital bed pillow.

"Do you want to talk about it...?" Ashley A. questioned, staring at him with concern.

"You've changed," Vince told her, raising an eyebrow at the behavior she was displaying. Ashley A. giggled slightly, rubbing the back of her head and leaning back in her chair.

"My therapist tells me that I need to work on not hiding how I feel so much. That I need to stop bottling up my emotions and hiding who I really am," Ashley A. explained, "So I try to show concern and interest in everyone I come in contact with. It's really helped me...you know...grow. I do a lot of charity work too. I don't just give anonymous donations anymore, like I used to. I actually go out and help."

"That's good. I like you this way," Vince said. She smiled.

"Thanks. You going to tell me what's wrong?"

"No," Vince sighed, "Because I don't think I can. I don't really know. Man, coach is going to be so mad when he hears about this. I need to be in top shape for the game."

"It's because your old friends are in town. TJ and the rest, isn't it?" Vince eyed her.

"How did you...?"

"I ran into Francis," Ashley A. explained, "He told me everything. That you guys talked about...I don't even want to say it...that all you guys have been doing since you got back was fight."

"That's not all..." Vince said, remembering the kiss again, his cheeks flushing.

"Frankly, I don't think it's a good idea, stirring up the past that way," Ashley A. continued, "I think you and the others need to leave it alone."

"That's the problem, Ashley A., we want to leave it alone, but it won't leave us alone," Vince snapped, angry. "Besides, it's TJ's fault. Why should I care? I have no responsibility in what happened. I'm not to blame."

"Oh please," Ashley A. laughed nervously, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why, because if you don't talk about it, it'll go away? It'll be like it never happened?"

"No. That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it? That if you push it aside, forget about it, then Mary Anna never existed...jeez, I sound like Gretchen." Vince attempted to pull himself up. He'd just been reminded of everything he had to do, and none of them involved sitting around on that damned hospital bed.

"What are you doing?" Ashley A. questioned, her brow furrowed in worry.

"Getting out of here. Help me."

"Like, no way." Return of the old Ashley A.

"Listen, will you! Something is going on, something big, in this little town. Something having to do with that pact we signed fifteen years ago, as far as we can figure. Gus is missing. If something is going on, and I'm betting it's something bad, and it does have to do with what happened, then you're involved. No matter how you like it or not, no matter how you ignore it. Someone is coming for us. Someone came for Gus and took him, someone came for me and look where I am and someone will come for you. And something tells me that they ain't stopping until we've all been hit, or worse, until we're all dead," Vince snapped, "Now get me out of this damn hospital bed and take me to Kelso's." Ashley A. stared at him in silence for a long time, then finally nodded, flipping out her cell phone and clicking a gelly button.

"Bruce, bring the car around," she said, then hung up the phone and came to Vince's side to help pull him out of the bed. She grabbed his clothes and stuffed them under her arm then slipped to Vince's side, supporting him as they made their way out of the room.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli made her way down the street. She'd been walking around town all night and even as the daylight broke on the horizon, she still walked. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't care. Her bare feet were bleeding and her nose was running and her head was pounding, but still she walked. Tears flowed smoothly, freely down her cheeks, steady and calm. She couldn't think anymore. She didn't want to. A chill wind picked up, stirring her hair to life. She wrapped her arms tightly about her and stopped in front of a silver-link fence. She looped her fingers into it, staring up at the large building, the empty blacktop, the ghostly swings swaying in the wind as though invisible swingers were on them, kicking their legs back and forth. Third Street Elementary, the place where she'd grown up too soon. She could just see the rebuilt gymnasium far in the back. The bucket of bolts, Old Rusty, still stood proudly in the middle of it all. The Cheese box, the kindergartners' area, the tire stack that was the Ashleys Clubhouse, the sand box, the kickball field, everything she remembered about the place was still there, like a preserved memory.

Spinelli kicked the fence, turning to the sweet unrecognizable face of a woman grinning maliciously, inches away from her. She had no time to react as a hand engulfed her mouth, a damp cloth smelling of...something...something strong, biting at her nostrils and throat.

The woman's smile broadened as she watched Spinelli's eyelids grow heavy and body become limp, slumping to the ground. The last thing Spinelli heard was the childish giggling of a little girl, and a whisper in her ear, "I'm taking him from you, because you don't deserve him. I just wanted you to know."

* * *

END A/N: Lot's of stuff happened...lot's of happy...well, no, sad, upsetting stuff happened. Okay, I just want you all to know that originally, I wasn't going to have Cornchip Girl be Gus's wife, but I didn't want to come up with a whole new character, so, I gave in. And, just so you know, Gus being married wasn't a last minute deal, I knew one of them was going to be, either Mikey or Gus, and I finally decided on Gus. That's just for you to know, alrighty? Okay. I hope at the end of this story TJ redeems himself in some way, because he's starting to get a little on the "we can never forgive him, he's a bastard," side.

TheNextPoliticalDynasty - I don't know if you were talking about the woman that TJ was with or what, but you somehow figured out that Ashley A. was appearing in this chapter. You must be psychic. GET OUT OF MY MIND...er...hehe...hope you liked the story.

Please **_REVEIW_**! -- Didn't get enough of that last chapter...hehe...I think it kicked some people in the butts though and let them know how I felt. I love **_REVIEW_**s though.

Thanks for reading, and please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

Much love, me


	13. Picture Perfect

A/N: Yay! Chapter 13, finally we are getting somewhere.

Okie-dokie. Thanks to TheNextPoliticalDynasty (no...wait...I'm used to saying her name, but she has no computer to read my story so...sniffles, no review...as of YET!), then I guess it's just xXxSarahxXx (glad you like the Cornchip Girl/Gus couple...but are you so certain TJ and Spinelli are getting back together?) and goofymonkeychild (thanks for coming back, my review board missed you). TWO HOURS, it would take me sooooo much longer to read ten chapters of this. _I'm_ a slow reader...prolific writer..._sloooow_ reader. You guys both rock so much! I just wonder where momo-chan is...sniffles...

Okie-day (I've been typing for five...no wait, six hours straight, I'm in a _weird_ mood). Lucky Chapter 13, ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 13: 

"Hang down your head Tom Dooley, hang down your head and cry...hang down your head Tom Dooley...poor boy you're bound to die..." Gus opened his eyes weakly. The scratchy song was his first clue that his captor had returned. It had been some time since he'd eaten or drank any water. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face and soaked his clothes, causing them to cling to his body, mingling with his blood. Why was it so damned hot in there? His captor had returned several times, her comings and goings were hard to keep track of. The only ways Gus could tell that she was there was from her occasional giggles, the record turned on or off, playing old folk tunes, or her mere poking and prodding whenever she felt like torturing him. He had several burn marks now as well as cuts and bruises; his whole body ached from hanging there the whole night. He'd given up talking to his captor, she never listened, and his throat was too parched now for him to form words anymore.

"Poor boy you're bound to die." The whisper, so close to Gus's ear, startled him. He jolted slightly, struggling against his bonds that wouldn't break. "What use are eyes?" she asked quietly, her hands trailing along his face. He squeezed his own eyes closed, praying that she would leave soon. "_You_ can't see, can you? So, what use are eyes." She pressed her thumbs against his eyelids.

"I can see!" Gus insisted, though it was a struggle and came out a harsh whisper, barely audible. She paused, pulled away. Had she heard him? Was she listening? Was she finally ready to reason? "Please," he started, "I don't know what you want from me. I have to go back home, to my wife...my child." He felt a cold hand come to his cheek; her claws digging into his flesh. He held the pained cries in as blood began to ooze down to his chin.

"You know what I want," came the whisper, "I want you to suffer...I want you to feel pain...I want you to see the pain of your friends...I want you to break...I want them all to be broken..." She trailed off, moving away from him. Gus heard the door open and close. She was gone again.

Gus moved his hands, wiggling them, looking for any loosening of his bonds, searching for a weakness in the rope that held him. He felt some object bite into his hand. He hissed, stopping all movement. Whatever it was, it was sharp. He felt blood trailing down his wrist, soaking into the rope. He squirmed, attempting to dig the sharp object from his flesh. Perhaps he could use it to saw the rope. He pulled it out, willed it out, biting his lower lip from the immense pain. Finally, he held it between his fingers, examining it through his touch, being unable to see it. It was small, one side like a knife, the other too smooth to cut through the rope. He worked his fingers to the bonds holding him, using the object to saw at the knot, back and forth, his eyes closed, praying to whatever higher being would listen. He felt the strands of the rope break, slowly and surely coming apart. He could feel that the rope was thick, that it would take time. But he had time. His fingers were sore from the constant motion, but he willed himself to keep going. He had to keep going. For his wife, the love of his life, and his unborn child that she carried. For the gang, who he had to warn about the psychotic woman that was after them.

Gus closed his eyes tight, hoping that the woman didn't come back before he was finished, before he had a chance to escape. That's all he needed. A chance. This one chance.

-0-0-0-0-

Theresa sat back in her chair, breathing softly, her eyes closed. Gretchen had finally finished telling her the story, about everything that had happened fifteen years before, of everything that had recently been happening. TJ was impressed. She took a very non-biased standpoint in the story telling. He thought of putting in that Mary Anna was his fault, but he decided it was best not to. Mikey and Gretchen looked as though they were getting sick of hearing his self-loathing speeches. Theresa was hard to read for a long time, sitting there, a hand gently rested against her belly. Finally, she opened her eyes and stared at all of them.

"I always wondered...she just disappeared," Theresa sighed, "I didn't know Gus had anything to do with it...or that fire...it's so horrible. He never talked about it. He just, didn't want to talk about Third Street often. When we did talk about Third Street Elementary, we'd talk about all the times _we'd_ spent together. I did think it was odd that he never spoke about you guys, but I remember that by the time he moved away, none of you were really close anymore. Of course, everyone on the playground noticed, for a time. Then it just became a normal sight, you guys hanging out with other people, and no one cared anymore."

"Are you upset, that Gus never told you?" Mikey spoke up. He'd sat in silence the whole time, reflecting on the things Gretchen was saying.

"No. I understand why he couldn't. Gus was always like that, he knew what he had to do, and so he'd do it, no matter how hard it was. I know that sometimes he looked as though he needed to tell me something, and he seemed to be arguing with himself over it," Theresa smiled serenely, sadly, thinking of her husband, "He could keep a secret. I love him for that."

"Are we done?" TJ asked, grasping his head, "It's just...loud."

"TJ, were you drinking?" Gretchen inquired, giving him a once over.

"Maybe a little," he answered, then groaned laying his head down, "Maybe a lot. I have to go." He made his way out of the room, slipping into the back restrooms. They tried to pretend they couldn't hear his retching, and for the most part, they couldn't. But they had a good idea of what he was doing back there and it made them all queasy as well.

"What's the matter with him?" Theresa asked, "He looks like hell. He's not the way I remember..."

"I guess we forgot to mention the quarrel he had with Spinelli," Gretchen sighed, "They'd been dating apparently and recent strains on their already strained relationship caused an unexpected break up. Needless to say, he's not taking it very well."

"Spinelli and TJ," Theresa repeated, almost confusedly. Mikey shrugged and Gretchen nodded, both taking it to mean she doubted it was true.

"I know that them being together may sound odd, we felt the same way. But it's true, whether you believe it or..." Mikey began.

"Odd?" Theresa interrupted, "Them _breaking up_ sounds odd. I always thought TJ and Spinelli were made for one another. I love Gus, but I always envied how well TJ and Spinelli fit with each other...like soul mates. Maybe you two were just too close to them to see it, but they're right together. I can understand why TJ's so upset; he must feel like he's lost a huge part of himself, half his heart maybe. I can imagine Spinelli is just as bad."

"Worse even," Gretchen stuttered, awed at the retrospection on Theresa's part.

"Oh cruel fate," Mikey cried, in a fashion that resembled the younger him, "How can we make this better? How can we help our heart ached friends?"

"_Our heart ached friends_?" Gretchen restated, staring at him with dripping sarcasm.

"You can't tell me that you don't feel the friendship returning in your heart?"

"I feel something returning...but I'm thinking that's my breakfast," Gretchen laughed sardonically, "Please Mikey, you share one touching moment with TJ and you think we're all the best of friends again?"

"Forgiveness is divine," Mikey stated.

"And loathe is a sin," Gretchen replied scathingly, "So send me to hell."

"What about the others, that signed the pact?" Theresa interrupted, trying to break the tension and bring them back to the important matter of her husband's absence.

"We contacted most of them," Gretchen explained, "They were to meet us here today, but every one of them bailed."

"I didn't get a hold of...let's see...Ashley A. and Ashley T., nor Randall, but that's all. The rest of them were supposed to be here, but they all called back and changed their minds," Mikey put in. Theresa nodded and the door to the bathroom opened, they could hear the toilet flushing in the background. TJ reappeared, clutching his stomach and head.

"I don't ever want to drink again," he moaned.

"It's good that you learned your lesson," Gretchen told him. She found her purse beneath the table. "I have a breath mint in here somewhere..."

"Maybe I should go home..." TJ started. They heard the squealing of tires outside, a silver Cadillac rolling up on the sidewalk in front of Kelso's. The companions turned to look outside in confusion. Who the hell could that be? They saw the car door swing open, a fashionably dressed young woman stepping out, her fair hair a wild mess. She walked to the other side of the car with a prideful stride; opening the door and helping someone climb out.

"Is that...Vince?" Mikey asked, pulling himself up and walking a few feet to the front door.

The young woman and man made their slow and steady pace up to the small diner, Vince leaning against the blonde woman. She was tall, sleek, dressed in designer clothes and wearing sunglasses. Her make-up was faded, and she looked like she'd been through hell and back. She kicked the front door of Kelso's open gently, pulling Vince inside and waving at the car for her driver to leave, which he did. She helped Vince stumble into a chair and straightened , stretching her back and taking a deep breath.

"That was, like, such a strain," she exclaimed loudly, much to the dismay of TJ's pounding noggin, and flipped her sunglasses atop her head, looking out at the awestruck occupants of the room. "What?"

"Ah...Ashley A.?" Gretchen finally managed.

"It's not really Ashley A. now," she giggled, showing her finger with the wedding ring. Theresa seemed to, subconsciously, rub her own much smaller wedding ring with a sort of injured pride. The others seemed to shake from their shock, looking at Vince who looked like he'd taken quite the beating himself. He'd changed out of the hospital gown in the car, back into his clothes, which were wrinkled and stale, and had huge bags beneath his eyes. He was sitting stiffly, uncomfortably, trying not to lean against his back.

"What happened to you?" Gretchen demanded.

"I was attacked," he told her, "What does it look like?"

"Oh God," Theresa whispered, burying her face in her hands, "Gus..."

"It doesn't confirm anything," Mikey attempted to comfort her, but failed miserably. Vince looked at her, with a look of confusion.

"Who are you?"

"Explain things to him," TJ commanded, "I have to call my parents and tell them where I am."

"I have to call my parents too," Vince said, "Before they send out the National Guard in search of me. But I would like an explanation," then shooting an indignant look towards TJ, "I knew I'd want one before I got here." TJ ignored the comment, walking behind the counter, still clutching his head. Maybe Spinelli was better with Vince, even if he was a jerk, he wouldn't sleep with another woman. TJ felt the bile rise again at the reminder. He picked up the phone, dialing the house number, wondering if his mother was home. His father picked up on the first ring, which was odd considering he should have been at work.

"TJ, is that you?" Mr. Dettwieler cried into the phone, "TJ? TJ? Theodore? Son?"

"Dad, why are you home?" TJ asked.

"Is that TJ? Give me the phone," he heard his mom say in the background. There was some shuffling and Mrs. Dettweiler's voice filled TJ's ear, "TJ, where are you?"

"Kelso's, mom, can you keep it down...why's dad home?"

"We were worried sick when you didn't come home, and then we get a call from Flo about how Ashley's gone, which by the way you should tell her to call her mother if she hasn't already, and then we hear on the news that there was an arson attack on an old friend of yours from school...what was her name...Ashley Tomassian, or something like that."

"Ashley T. was attacked? Is she alright? Wait...Spinelli's missing?" TJ cried in the phone.

"Ashley T. was attacked!" Ashley A. cried from where she stood.

"The girl is okay, she's suffering from a few burns but that's about all. Isn't Spinelli with you?" Mrs. Dettwieler replied.

"No. We...well...we..." TJ looked to the others, staring at him with interest, he dropped his voice, "I think we broke up."

"What?" Mrs. Dettwieler screeched, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. TJ held the phone away from his ear. "What happened? What do you mean you broke up? Did _she_ break your little heart, TJ? What did that little slut do to you, my poor baby? I knew that tramp was no good to begin with...I mean, look at her parents..."

"No, mom...it's not Spinelli's fault...I...well...I was being stupid and I..."

"What did you do to her? Answer me, young man. I raised you to treat women better than..."

"Mom!" TJ cried, "Calm down and answer me. Spinelli didn't come home?"

"No, and I can see why. She must be so heart broken, so upset...the dear child..."

"Mom, will you give me some answers."

"Don't snap at _me_, young man," Mrs. Dettwieler replied sharply, "That little Ashley was going to give me grandchildren and _you_ screwed that up."

"Give me the phone back, sweetheart," Mr. Dettwieler said in the background, trying to soothe his wife while prying the phone from her hands.

"I mean, sheesh, _what is wrong with my children_? First my eldest son decides he and his wife aren't ready for children...and Becky, don't get me started on _the daughter_...a different man every week! My youngest was my last chance, and he completely messes things up..._my last chance_...I want grandchildren! But nooo...my kids can't give me any...I give _them_ life...grandchildren is the least I could ask for, right?" Mrs. Dettwieler rambled on, handing her husband the phone and throwing her hands up in despair.

"Dad, is mom going to kill me when I get home?" TJ asked, pale.

"Of course not son..." Mr. Dettwieler answered, then paused to glance at his wife, "But I think you'd better stay away from the house for awhile..."

"What about Spinelli?" Vince asked, having dragged himself to TJ's side. TJ shot him a dangerous look before prodding his father with the same topic.

"Spinelli, dad, tell me about Spinelli," TJ said.

"I want to know about Ashley T.," Ashley A. demanded, coming up behind Vince.

"No, Spinelli," Vince said stubbornly.

"I would like to know about my friend, is she alright?"

"Where's Spinelli?" Vince demanded.

"Will you guys get the hell away from me!" TJ cried. They looked at him stunned, and then preceded to back off slowly. TJ shook his head, "Jeez...Dad, first tell me what happened with Ashley T." Ashley A. shot Vince a triumphant look, then turned with concern to TJ.

"Well, someone set fire to her motel room, locked her in," Mr. Dettwieler explained, "At least, that's what they're saying on the news. The firefighters got there in time to drag her out and save her. She's at the hospital now, being treated for minor burns and possible lung damage from inhaling the smoke."

"She's fine, Ashley A.," TJ called over his shoulder, reiterating the news, then speaking to his father again, "And Spinelli?"

"Apparently, Joey says he left her in his room when he went out in the middle of the night, but when he got back, she was gone. Her parents can't find her anywhere. They called us, thinking she was over here. It was the strangest thing, they thought she was staying at a motel; they wanted to know if we had the motel information. But it's alright, we set them straight on that matter," Mr. Dettwieler went on, TJ slapping his forehead, massaging the bridge of his nose in annoyance, "She hasn't called, or anything. It's the middle of the day...she isn't with you? We're all worried what with this arsonist running around town. We haven't had this much of a stir in our little town since...well...since the murder at Third Street Elementary..." For a moment, TJ thought his father was talking about Mary Anna, but then realized that her disappearance was never confirmed as a murder.

"What are you talking about, dad?" TJ finally asked, "What murder?" He saw Gretchen straighten, and Mikey perk up, even as Vince and Ashely A. were already paying close attention, they both shifted uncomfortably.

"Well...when was it...two, three years ago now, I think. What was that, sweetie?" Mr. Dettwieler called, placing a hand over the phone, "You remember better than me. Oh, that's right," he put the phone back to his ear, "It was three years ago, in the school gym."

"Who?" TJ asked, his heart caught in his throat.

"Let's see...it was the janitor, right, honey? Yeah, the janitor."

"Hank?" TJ gulped, seeing his company look downcast, fearing the worst of the beloved man from their past.

"No, not Hank. What with so many new kids, and Hank getting on in his years, they hired a new, younger janitor. In fact, I think you did know him. He went to school with you. What was his name...Mandy...no that's a girl's name...what honey? Oh, Mundy," Mr. Dettwieler chuckled.

"Mundy," TJ repeated. He remembered the redheaded school bully well enough; a dropout and a real problem child.

Mundy had given TJ and Spinelli a great deal of trouble throughout Middle and High School. Mundy had had some sort of thing for Spinelli and he wouldn't leave her alone, and Mundy could scrap just as well as she could. TJ got fed up with it and finally stepped up to deal with Mundy himself. They'd gotten in a fight in the 9th grade, right there in the cafeteria of the school. Mundy had pulled out a knife; a real wicked switchblade and Spinelli stepped in to help, but only got in the way. Mundy ended up slicing her arm open, which left a scar that she still had to that day. Mundy ran off leaving Spinelli bleeding and screaming curse words and threats after him, with TJ panicking by her side. Of course, that was Mundy's last day at the school, he never showed up again and no one could track him down. The police hadn't really given it too much work. They knew Mundy's family and expected so much from him. Mundy, inevitably, blamed TJ for the whole event and TJ, in turn, wanted to kill Mundy for what he'd done to Spinelli. They'd had a running grudge ever since. TJ couldn't say the news of Mundy's death was all too upsetting for him, if it weren't for the circumstances.

"How did he die?" TJ asked, unsure how he'd take the answer.

"They're not certain, they found his body smoldering in the gym," Mr. Dettwieler answered solemnly, nervously. He obviously didn't like talking about the subject. "The school's been closed ever since. Though, I have heard rumor that it was going to be opening up again soon. But before, all the students have been going to, was it Ninety-Eighth Street Elementary? Yes, that's it. All the while the school underwent an investigation and also had to deal with a great deal of media. I feel so much sympathy for Principle Prickly...and Miss Finster, she took the most heat from what happened, being the last one to see Mundy. I hear they're going to tear the gym down though, and they're renovating the interior of the school. It's always suffering from vandalism of some sort...never could figure out who was up to that."

"And they're sure it was Mundy?"

"That was the final decision, according to the newspapers," Mr. Dettwieler replied, "Your mom wrote you all about this, didn't you read it?" TJ chuckled nervously.

"I just forgot is all..." Truth was, TJ hardly ever read the letters his mom wrote him. They were always filled with boring news from the town, something about a pie convention, or the annual fair.

"Why are you so interested anyhow? It's old news," Mr. Dettwieler said, "We're talking about Spinelli now."

"I know, dad. Look, I got to go, Vince has to call his parents so they can stop worrying about him," TJ said, "Bye dad."

"Okay, bye son. Call if you hear anything from Spinelli." TJ hung up the phone and looked to the others, "Mundy was always into bad things...it was probably something he got himself in trouble for..." TJ told them, after filling them in on the conversation he'd had with his dad, trying to shrug it all off as nothing big, "Mundy had nothing to do with the pact anyways. Though...it is odd that they found him in the gym."

"How did he...how did he die?" Gretchen ventured, looking ready to burst into tears. Theresa was staring at her husband's broken glasses, turning them about in her hands. Mikey was staring blankly at TJ and Vince and Ashley A. stood, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

"They don't know...whoever did it lit his body on fire afterwards," TJ explained quietly, "I just don't understand, does that have anything to do with it? I mean, what happened. It couldn't, right?"

"Ashley T. was attacked and Spinelli's missing. We've got bigger problems than 'who killed Mundy'. Mary Anna, remember? Let's stick with that and forget about any other murder cases going on in this town. There's no way they're connected," Vince mumbled, "So can we stick to one things at a time. Who knows who's next on that psycho's list."

"We think it could be Mikey and me," Gretchen spoke up, clearing her throat, "Since our letters are missing now."

"What letters?" Ashley A. asked.

"That's right, we couldn't contact you to ask," Mikey said, "Mysterious messages in brown envelopes, you didn't happen to receive one, did you?"

"Did they look like this?" Ashley A. asked, pulling a brown paper from the pocket in her jacket. She put it in Gretchen's outstretched hand. Gretchen removed the letter that was inside and read it aloud.

"Ashley A. in the end will truly be SCAN-DA-LOUS..." Gretchen looked up at Ashley A. with a raised eyebrow, able to tell immediately that the handwriting belonged the young woman before her from the heart dotting the "I". "You don't still write like this, do you?" Gretchen questioned mockingly.

"No," Ashley A. retorted scathingly, "And if you must know, scandalous is no longer in my vocabulary. I only use it when myself and the other Ashleys get together and talk about old times...the better part of the old times at least."

"Another piece of the puzzle," Gretchen sighed, pulling out Spinelli's remaining envelope.

"I don't understand though," TJ said from across the room, "If the envelopes disappearing is an indication of who the next target is, than Spinelli can't have been taken yet, or attacked, because hers is still here, right? Then where is she?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions. We haven't figured out the pattern yet, TJ," Gretchen told him, then beneath her breath, "There might not even be a pattern..."

"What does Spinelli's say?" Ashley A. asked curiously.

"Well...it says..." Gretchen dumped the contents of the envelope out, rearranging the pieces to form the note and discovering something interesting. "There's another new piece," Gretchen exclaimed, holding it up with the other piece they'd recently found, the new piece reading, "you'll be". Gretchen tried to fit them with the other pieces, but they wouldn't fit. "Odd..." she mumbled under her breath.

"Spinelli, you are best at hide-and-seek, but he will soon find you..." Ashley A. read aloud, and then looking up asked, "Why's it all ripped?"

"Came that way," the four former friends told her in unison, unflinching.

"O-kay," Ashley A. said, "I have to call Ashley T. to make sure she's really alright. She'll have her cell phone on her. Can I get through?" She shoved her way past TJ and Vince to the phone and picked it upn

"I still have to call my parents," Vince tried to argue, but Ashley A. was already dialing. "Hey, don't you have a cell phone," he cried.

"It's in my purse," she told him while the phone rang, "This is easier." Vince rolled his eyes. He looked at TJ.

"Why do you smell like alcohol?"

-0-0-0-0-

Gus felt the last few strands of the rope break away, and with the force holding him up gone, he slumped weakly to the ground. He knew the general direction of the door, even with it being so dark, so he felt his way along the ground, crawling. He knew it wasn't too far away from him, feeling the wooden floor, eyes wide, searching the dark. He could see the light through a crack in the door, slamming his head into something hard in front of him. It took him a time to recover, he sat down, breathing heavily, feeling tears streaming down his cheeks. He used the hard, obtruding, object to pull himself up, knocking something smooth and delicate to the ground, hearing it shatter. He thought nothing of it, not caring what he damaged on his way to escape. The hard wooden object was a table blocking his path. He ran his hands along it, trying to find the edge, using it to support his weight. He was so close to the outside, he could smell it. He could almost feel his wife in his arms again, taste the cool refreshing chill of water running down his throat, hear the sound of his wife's voice and laughter.

There was a piece of paper, something, that slipped beneath his fingers. A photograph...something...a clue as far as he was concerned. He stuffed it in his pocket and stumbled his way around the table towards the door. He touched the slab of wood that stood in his way to the outside world. He attempted to open it. It wouldn't budge. His heart sank. It was locked. Why hadn't he realized that his captor would lock the door, ensure that no one came in and found him? He pulled at it, banged on it, begged it to open, tears streaming wildly down his cheeks as he beat on the door in frustration. He'd been so close...so goddamned close.

Gus searched about him, feeling for something he could use to jam in the door and rip it open, slicing his fingers on sharp, useless objects that he found scattered around him. He slumped against the door finally, giving in once more. Maybe he could overpower his captor when she returned. She had the advantage of sight over him, but that hardly made a difference in the dark. Why wasn't anyone outside? Why didn't anyone hear his calls? He strained to listen. There were no kids laughing and playing outside. No sounds of people talking or chatting or walking by. No cars, no nothing. Just the sound of water.

Water. If this was indeed the old boathouse, which Gus didn't doubt it was what with the lack of people and the sound of water surrounding the building, it opened up to the lake. He let his senses guide him, trying to recall the strenuous swimming and diving lessons he'd taken to prepare for his trip down the Amazon River when he was in the Peace Corp. He moved slowly, towards the sound and smell of the life giving liquid and found the end of the walkway easily. He sat down on the edge, taking his shoes and socks off and slipped his feet into the water, it was like ice compared to the heat he'd had to endure. He removed his shirt as well, discarding it. He could leave these objects behind. While he didn't know if it was day or night, he trusted that once outside he could see better, if not by the sunlight than by the light of the moon.

Gus took a deep breath and whispered, "For Theresa," before slipping into the water and swimming forward.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli opened her eyes, her head pounding. She was in a small room, that much she could figure, and there was no door that she could see. She looked around her, focus coming back to her, mouth dropping open. Pictures. They were everywhere. Pictures hanging on the walls, covering all four of them completely, so that Spinelli couldn't even discern the color of the wall behind them. But that wasn't the most shocking part of the pictures. They were pictures of her, of her and TJ together. Her face was ripped out of a few of them, older ones from when they were younger. They were pictures from her middle and high school years, but also candid shots of her and TJ together in New York. Her heart pounded in her chest. There were a few of her and TJ in bed together she blushingly realized. One of her in the shower, a lot more of TJ in the shower or changing. Shots that no one could have possibly taken. Then there was one, one picture lying in the center of the room. She went to it, picked it up, her hands trembling uncontrollably. A picture of a doll; a dirty, disgusting, broken, blonde, porcelain doll, held in the arms of a blonde haired, brown-eyed little girl that should be fifteen years dead.

Spinelli threw the picture away, ripping pictures off the wall in frustration, in fear, only to reveal more pictures.

"Who the hell are you?" she cried, demanding answers from the empty room, "What do you want from me? You sick, perverted..." Giggling. Someone was giggling. "You can hear me..." Spinelli mumbled, and then screamed, "You can hear me! I know you can! Let me out of here! Let me out! Face me! You coward, you fucking coward!"

"Pretty...pretty little doll..." came the careful, shaking, childish whisper, "So fragile...so weak...so helpless..."

"What? Doll? What are you talking about?" Spinelli demanded, "Answer me!"

"Made of glass...made of porcelain...so easily shattered..."

"Stop it," Spinelli commanded, screaming uselessly, she gave up, "Let me out...please...please let me out...please leave me alone..." Spinelli sank to the ground, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms about them, hiding her face, whispering, "Teej..."

"So easily broken."

* * *

END A/N: So, as one friend escapes the evil mystery lady's clutches, another falls victim. It's gonna get a lot worse for the gang before this is over. Since no one gave me sufficient reason (or any reason for that matter) to change this story back to the "R" rating, it's here at "PG-13" to stay...I think... 

hm...there was something else I needed to say...oh yeah! I meant to bring up the death of the janitor in an earlier chapter, but there just didn't seem a right place for it until now. I wasn't going to use Mundy as the janitor, either, but I couldn't think of anyone else...so any Mundy fans out there, please don't hate me or flame me or anything.....

Oh, and those lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from an actual old Folk song entitled Tom Dooley, it's very pretty actually, for a song about a...ahem...hanging.

Oh and, will someone rename this chapter. I went to post it, and didn't even realize that I didn't name it, so I just tossed on the first thing that came to mind. Give me another name for it and if I like it enough, I'll change it to that and credit you in the next chapter. Unless everyone likes the title already...

Now that you've read it, GO _**REVIEW**_! I'm accepting anonymous reviews now, thanks to weaslypotter (why didn't you tell me I spelled your s/n incorrectly? I'm soo sorry)...so...GO _**REVIEW**_! I feel like I'm cheering...GIVE ME AN R...GIVE ME AN E...GIVE ME A V...ahem...

THAnks for reading...please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. See ya next update!

WHAT DOES THAT SPELL? ...apparently _**REV**_! hehe. Okay I'm done.


	14. Drawing Conclusions

* * *

A/N: Here it is...Drawing Conclusions, chapter 14. No one gave me a better title for chapter 13, or any title for that matter, so it remains the same. 

Um...thanks xXxSarahxXx for your loyal review, I love it...I love it...but don't be too confident of anything with my story. I may throw you a curve ball angsty ending...maybe I'll kill one of them off...hm...the possibilities...oh, and YAY! TheNextPoliticalDynasty is back, with reviews for both my chapters, you rock my world so very much. GREATLY appreciated.

Guys, move on to the chapter and ENJOY!

Now to deal with...Cres-can't-spell-my-name-so-I'm-giving-up Moon78, you call that a flame? That was pathetic! It doesn't even sound like you read my story. Were some of the words too big for you? Or was it too long (fyi: the first chapter's only half the size of the rest, ready to give up on reading yet?), or was it too complicated? You disappoint me, I expected better from a "hard" flamer like yourself, why don't you go crawl back under the slimy rock you crawled out from and improve your so-called flaming skill and wait for me to possibly call on you again. That flame held no substance. Telling me I suck? Until you get some of your work off of the "paper" that it's supposedly on and "impress me" with your bad skills, bite your fucking tongue and swallow it while your at it. Unless your chicken, or ain't all your cracked up to be, give me something that'll piss me off, man, not sigh and feel sympathy for your pathetic ass. I'm deleting that piece of shit "hard flame" because it's crap and dissapoints me. And just for the record, you need to freshen up on the definition of a flame, because you don't seem to know. What I wrote Tiny-Rabbit, wasn't a flame, it was a review filled with, say it with me now, CON-STRUC-TIVE CRI-TI-CISM. Flames discourage writers, like your crappy-pathetic-lame-excuse-for-flames (reviews), mine on the other hand encouraged her to keep working on her skill as a true critique should do. Why don't you come back when you have something meaner to say. hm...It'll take you awhile to get to this chapter though and read this message, won't it...oh well. Lots of love and rot in hell.

* * *

Chapter 14: Drawing Conclusions 

Ashley A. sat on the phone, nodding every now and then, twisting the cord about her finger. She smiled once, frowned a few times, and laughed a bit. Her company watched from the table in awe, trying not to pay too close attention, but unable to peel their eyes away from her mouth, moving rapidly. How could one woman say_ so_ much, _so _fast? Finally, she bade a "good-bye" to the person on the other end with an added "I'll see you soon," and hung up the phone.

"At last!" Vince exclaimed sticking his hand out to her and looking expectantly at the phone. Ashley A. rolled her eyes, but passed it over, stretching the cord a length. Vince limped over to the base, dialing his parents' number.

"I do not want to see the next phone bill for this place..." Theresa muttered from the table.

"I'm going to the hospital," Ashley A. announced, picking up her purse and opening it, digging around for her cell phone.

"How's Ashley T. doing?" Mikey asked. He received a melancholic smile.

"She's got severe burns on her back, legs, hands, and face. The doctors say she could have the scars for the rest of her life," was the saddened answer, "I'm going to meet the other Ashleys there...you know...for support."

"I'm going to the library, to do some research," Gretchen announced, standing up and scavenging the floor for her own purse, "I want to look at some of the original articles on the gym burning down. I didn't follow the story too closely...I want to see what evidence the police found on the arson."

"I shall accompany you. At this point, I don't believe any of us should remain alone," Mikey told her. She nodded approval, slipping her purse strap over her shoulder and leading Mikey to the door.

"I'm fine, mom," Vince was saying on the phone, "No. I don't need dad to come pick me up...have you heard anything on Spinelli? No...okay...I heard...alright. I'll be fine, mom. I'll see you later...I _have_ things to do. Bye, mom. Yeah, I'm sorry. Love you." He hung the phone up and turned to his companions.

"Would you like to go to the library as well, Vince?" Gretchen asked superciliously, obviously knowing the answer already.

"I'm going to go look for Spinelli," Vince told them.

"You're in no shape to do that," Ashley A. pointed out, but didn't argue too long having just found her cell phone and called her driver. "Bruce?" she said into the phone, turning away from them, "Yeah, bring the car around..."

"I'll be fine. I just...I can't sit back and rest knowing Spinelli is out there alone with some psycho hunting us all down," Vince shrugged, moving towards the door.

"I'm coming too," TJ mumbled, picking himself off the table, then gripping it again swaying dizzily, "But I have to stop home and clean up."

"I'm not walking around with you, and I highly doubt that you're on the top of the list of people Spinelli wants to see right now...you're probably the last," Vince protested.

"I don't like it either, Vince, but Mikey's right, we shouldn't be walking around alone. Look what happened to you. You think the attacker's going to just be satisfied with knocking you to the pavement? He or she, or whoever it is, they're looking to finish us off," TJ spat, "Like it or not, I'm coming with you...besides, if I'm last on Spinelli's list of people she wants to see right now, your name is right above mine, second to last."

"Then stay with..." Vince looked confusedly at the brunette woman sitting at the table still, "I'm sorry, _who_ are you?"

"Theresa Griswold, LaMaize was my maiden name," the woman answered, but seeing he still wasn't grasping the concept added dully, "We went to elementary school together...I was two years below you...my dad was in the navy...I used to collect corn chips..." Vince's eyes widened in realization.

"Cornie? Cornie!" he grinned, hugging her tightly, "You look...well, not little...Griswold...you married Gus?"

"You're _Cornchip_ _girl_? Man, you, like, got fat," Ashley A. spoke up. Theresa frowned at her, resting a hand on her belly. "Oh...Gotta go," Ashley A. turned, seeing the silver Cadillac pulling up. She made her way out of the small diner, leaving the others behind, staring after her in stun.

"I'm staying behind here," Theresa told the others, "I have to open the store. If Gus...he'll come back here..."

"I understand," Gretchen said, nodding.

"I'm going to call the police," Theresa went on.

"You can't do that," Gretchen commanded, "I mean...not yet."

"But..."

"I think the best way you can help us is by calling the others, that signed that pact, make them understand the danger they're in. Mikey, do you have their numbers written down?" Gretchen turned to the taller young man standing beside her.

"They're back behind the counter. Ashley A. will probably speak to the other Ashleys, so all you'll have to do is call Menlo, Francis, and Butch," Mikey explained. Theresa nodded.

"Let's get going, if you have to stop at your house, we can go to the Spinellis' too and talk to Joey," Vince snapped at TJ, "He was the last one to see her before she left there wasn't he?"

"Yeah," TJ muttered, following Vince out the door and not looking too happy at the prospect of seeing Spinelli's brother again.

"To the library then, Mikey? It's quite the distance, so I hope you have your walking shoes on," Gretchen said, turning to him.

"We could always take TJ's car," Mikey returned, pulling the keys from his pocket.

"We'll call you if we find anything," Gretchen said to Theresa, "If you do happen to get a hold of anyone on that list, try to get them to come here to Kelso's, let them know the severity of the matter, if they won't come, at least warn them. We can't afford to mess around anymore."

"Got it," Theresa nodded, hobbling behind the counter and looking over the list while Mikey and Gretchen headed out the door as well.

"Do you think it's a good idea to leave Theresa alone?" Mikey questioned, looking to Gretchen as they climbed in the rental car.

"I don't think Theresa would be a target," Gretchen shrugged, buckling her seatbelt while Mikey started up the car, his own belt firmly in place, "She had nothing to do with what happened."

"I suppose...but should we really take that chance?"

"We have no other options," Gretchen sighed, straightening her glasses, "Can we please proceed to the library in silence, I have a few things I'd prefer to mull over in silence."

"Like Spinelli and TJ?"

"No..."

"Gretchen, please speak to me," Mikey moaned, "TJ has shown me the error of my judgment and I no longer feel any animosity towards you, I would like for you to feel the same."

"Well, I don't," Gretchen snapped, "And I probably won't ever."

"Fine," Mikey whispered in disappointment, turning his full attention to the road.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ slipped into his house silently, leaving Vince behind as he climbed the stairs and headed to the bathroom. If his mom so much as caught a whiff of him, she'd know he'd been drinking and end up getting one hell of an earful. He didn't need that right now. And if she _saw_ him...if would just all be over. That woman had given birth to him and he swore that they never really cut the damn umbilical cord, because she still had some sort of connection to him. She'd know the instant she laid eyes on him that he'd been out last night and slept with someone. It was almost a sixth sense for her. TJ's mom could tell what he'd been up to. Whether it was drinking, fighting, smoking (he learned that in a very painful way the middle of 7th grade), and especially sex. He still recalled walking in the door, the night after his first time with Spinelli, meeting his mom in an almost head-on collision. The first words out of her lips had been, "did you use protection," not "where have you been," or "what did you do," because she apparently already knew all of that. Scared the hell out of him.

The bathroom was empty, which was good for him. He proceeded to wash his face, brush his hair and teeth, and change shirts. He sprayed some of his father's cologne on as an added masque to the alcohol smell, but soon regretted it when he realized how strong and repugnant the cologne itself smelt. With nothing else he could do, he left the bathroom and made his way downstairs again to find that his parents were talking to Vince.

"We're glad you're okay," Mr. Dettwieler was saying, gently patting Vince's shoulder.

"I can't believe that you were mugged...in this quiet town," Mrs. Dettwieler sighed, shaking her head, "Arson, mugging, murders...it's just not the same as when we were kids, honey."

"You'll be good for the game, though, right?" Mr. Dettwieler asked, desperation written on his face. Vince nodded, shooting TJ a 'help me', noticing him on the stairs. TJ sighed, stepping forward.

"Mom, dad?" The Dettwielers both reeled on their son, embracing him.

"TJ, you're alright," Mrs. Dettwieler cried ecstatically, squeezing him tightly, then pulling back, eyeing him suspiciously, and raising an eyebrow. Shit, TJ thought, she knows.

"Son," Mr. Dettwieler greeted, "We were so worried."

"Look, Vince and me have to get going. We've...uh...got things to do," TJ told them.

"Spinelli's missing and you're gallivanting off to who knows where?" Mrs. Dettwieler accused, "My son, the heartbreaker...where have you been all night?"

"Are you wearing my cologne?"

"What? I'm not gallivanting off anywhere..." TJ protested, "I'm going to look for Spinelli...we're going to look for Spinelli." He tried to maneuver past his parents, his mom still eyeballing him angrily, probably recalling the anger of losing her "last chance" at grandchildren.

"TJ...you seem strange...there's something different about you..." Mrs. Dettwieler was saying as TJ grabbed the front door knob.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, mom...hehe..." TJ chuckled nervously, grabbing Vince's arm and throwing the door opening, dragging him outside. TJ stuck his head back in the door briefly, saying, "I'll see you later", before heading back out again and shutting the door gently.

"Alcohol!" TJ heard his mom scream inside the house, "He's been drinking!"

"Let's get out of here," TJ insisted, tugging Vince off. They sprinted away from the house as the door swung back open and Mrs. Dettwieler rushed out, screaming after them.

"Get back her young man! Drinking! I didn't give birth to a drunkard!"

"Sweetie," Mr. Dettwieler whispered, looking about sheepishly, "He's an adult now. He's allowed to have a drink every now and then."

"NOT WHILE I'M STILL ALIVE!"

TJ glanced over his shoulder and he and Vince bounded around the corner and came to a halt on the Spinelli porch, still able to hear Mrs. Dettwieler screeching. The front door opened before they had a chance to ring the doorbell, Bob Spinelli stepping out of the house, saying in confusion, "Now who can that be...?" and nearly running into Vince. He stopped, looking between the panting two boys. "TJ and...Vince?"

"Hey, Mr. Spinelli," Vince greeted, not as out of breath as TJ, though still a bit winded.

"What are you two doing here?" Bob asked.

"We were wondering if we could talk to Joey," TJ finally managed, having steadied his breathing.

"Sure, he's in his room round back," Bob told them, before pushing his way forward to see who was throwing such a fit. "Mrs. D? What are you doing?" TJ motioned for Vince to follow him, knowing exactly where Joey's room was. It didn't take long for Joey to open the door; he seemed to be ready to head out as it was. He gave the two boys a once over before pursing his lips and glancing away in suppressed rage.

"What the hell do you want?" he demanded.

"We wanted to ask about Spinelli," Vince spoke up awkwardly, his voice filled with utmost respect. He was taller than Joey by about a foot and a half, but the smaller man had the look of a killer. He was a short Italian man, evenly tanned, a tattoo on his neck and left forearm, a well-chiseled face pulled into a frown, with the scruff of a day old beard evident on his chin and cheeks. He was frightening to say the least.

"You come around here, asking about my baby sister, after what you fuckers did to her?" Joey spat, looking between the two and focusing in on TJ, "You got some nerve. I let you go Scott-free this morning, and you come back around asking for my sweet, innocent..."

"Cut the crap, Joey," TJ interrupted, "If you want to hit me, go ahead, if not the least you can do is answer our questions. We're just as worried about Spinelli as you." Vince glanced at TJ, obviously impressed, though infuriated as well. He never would have had the guts to stand up to Joey like that and it bit into his ego that TJ, the runt of the group, could. It hurt even more so knowing TJ was doing it for Spinelli, and Vince was still sniveling and cowering before the brutal Italian man even with the safety of the woman he claimed to love on the line. Something went down between TJ and Joey, Vince could tell that much, but as to what it was, he hadn't the slightest idea. He assumed it had to do with TJ breaking up with Spinelli.

"What do you want to know? She came here all upset about you, alright, yelling and screaming," Joey snarled, "Said you broke up with her...said a lot of things I'm sure she didn't mean..." his eyes seemed to flicker with reminiscent grief then regained their fire, "Said it was my fault, and his fault," Joey pointed to Vince, who's eyes narrowed in bafflement, "and her fault. Surprised she didn't blame you, I mean, you are a snake, and after what you did..."

"Just tell us when she left," TJ sighed, eyes downcast.

"She didn't leave...not while I was here. She fell asleep, crying in my arms, does that make you happy?"

"Not in the least," TJ mumbled.

"I came back after I dealt with you and she was gone. I'd put her in my bed, left a note telling her where I was going. She must have found it, it was on the bed when I got back," Joey explained, "She even left her shoes. So wherever she is, she's walking around barefoot."

"She must have gone to Gretchen's house after that," TJ said, "From the way Gretch described her, she was more sedate. Probably calmed down after she slept. Come on, Vince, let's go."

"You punks looking for her?" Joey asked.

"Yeah," TJ answered, "You want to come with us?"

"No. I'm getting some of my friends and cousins together, we're going to search the entire town, it'll be faster that way," Joey spat.

"If we find anything, we'll call your parents," TJ told him. Joey nodded.

"Me and my guys'll find her," Joey shrugged watching Vince and TJ cross the yard and head in the direction of Gretchen's house.

-0-0-0-0-

Gretchen headed immediately to the reference desk as soon as they reached the library, Mikey close at her heels.

"I need all the news articles from fifteen years ago, April 2nd until now," Gretchen stated, staring expectantly at the librarian who looked up at her in surprise.

"Ah...well...um..." the woman stuttered, looking at her computer then at the demanding Gretchen and back down again. "Well, all our newspapers have been moved to microfiche. They'll be in the backroom, that way," she told her, pointing to a door across the library, "You can just go right in and look up what you need in there. It's all catalogued" Gretchen nodded, strutting off with Mikey bounding after her calling a sloppy "thanks" over his shoulder while trying to catch up to the determined young woman.

"Gretchen, what are you looking for?" he inquired, staring over her shoulder as she rummaged through the collection of newspapers printed on the microfiche rolls and properly labelled. She made her way over to one of the large scanners with several of them and placing one of the rolls of film in the scanner. She began searching, the image reflecting in her glasses as she rolled through each article finishing in mere moments before moving on and placing another in. Mikey attempted to get an answer again, "Maybe if you told me what you were looking for..."

"I'm not sure what I'm looking for," Gretchen mumbled in response, flipping nonchalantly through roll after roll. Then coming to a halt, "But it might look something like that," Gretchen began reading as Mikey stuck his head in to get a better look, "School Fire Declared Arson - after much debate over what began the fire at Third Street Elementary Gym, police have finally come to the conclusion of arson. 'The evidence points to an intentional fire,' Chief Gregory announced Saturday, 'Though we believe that it was not meant to burn down the gym.' The police department found clues suggesting the fire began in a nearby dumpster. The arsonist apparently lit some rags on fire using liter fluid, there was a discarded bottle found nearby, and a packet of matches, several burnt ones were found in a pile by the dumpster as well. They were identified as a generic type easily purchased at Merty's Convenience Store and Gas station, sold in bulk. The fire, according to Gregory, must have gotten out of control and caught onto an oil puddle, an overlooked leak, that was beside the gym.

"As to the tale of a child being in the building at the time, the police have declared said rumors to be nothing more than that, rumors. No body has been discovered, as of yet, so fear of any casualty is unfounded at this moment. Though, Gregory does maintain, that it is still a possibility. If any child in attendance of Third Street Elementary is found missing...yatta, yatta, yatta," Gretchen looked up, "Is that it?"

"Were you expecting more?" Mikey asked, staring at her.

"Let's just keep looking, shall we," Gretchen snapped, placing another roll of film into the scanner. Mikey paced the room, watching Gretchen scour the news articles, flicking through them, stopping every now and then to glance over an article mentioning the fire, then, deciding it held no real information, and proceeding to continue with the constant flipping, her eyes moving in rapidly, darting from top to bottom of the screen, amazingly taking in the blurry flash of words and pictures.

"Did they ever find a...well...a body?" Mikey finally ventured, having sat in silence not wanting to break Gretchen's concentration and retrieving rolls of film for her whenever she asked. Gretchen stopped, looking up blinkingly, startled.

"What?"

"I asked if they ever found a body," Mikey restated, "Because...well, the article said that they didn't...so...it's just suspicious is all." Gretchen looked back down at the scanner, flabbergasted, not sure what to say.

"I...well it's never mentioned again," Gretchen attempted to clarify, "But we know that Mary Anna was in the building when it burned, we watched Randall lock the door ourselves. As there was no other exit from the building that we knew of, and Mary Anna _was_ unconscious...and she never reappeared at home...it's only logical to assume that she perished in that fire."

"I suppose..."

"Ah...this is interesting. Nearly three years after the fire, but interesting to say the least," Gretchen muttered, reading the article, "Student Suspect in School Fire - The arson at Third Street Elementary appears to be the job of a young student, perhaps at the elementary school itself or Lincoln Middle School. However, the investigation has been closed due to lack of evidence. There are plans already in motion to rebuild the gym, and construction should be completed by next fall, according to Principle Prickly of the elementary school.

"I didn't know they thought a student at Third Street started the fire," Gretchen murmured, "That can't be possible. Who at Third Street would start a fire?"

"I could think of a few kids," Mikey stated, "Some of which signed that pact."

"You can't think that, Mikey," Gretchen sighed, "No one on that list would have intentionally killed someone, no matter how strongly they disliked her."

"Maybe they didn't do it to kill her," Mikey pressed, "Maybe they wanted to take the prank a step farther, and they pushed it too far...maybe..."

"The fire was started at the dumpster though. You can't even see the dumpster from the gym," Gretchen argued.

"Right...were you looking for anything else?" Mikey attempted changing the subject. He really didn't want to get in a debate with Gretchen, she was better at arguing the point, though he could already see the gears in her head ticking into motion, pondering the very possibilities that Mikey was suggesting.

"I won't know until I've finished looking through all of these."

-0-0-0-0-

Ashley A. stood impatiently tapping her foot, staring down the nurse sitting behind the hospital counter who was talking on the phone with...well her boyfriend from what Ashley A. could figure. Her nametag read Megan.

"Ma'am?" Ashley A. attempted again, "Can I, like, get some help here?"

"Could you hold on, Bobby?" the nurse Megan said in the phone, then turned to the young woman glaring down at her and demanded, "What?"

"My friend is in this hospital, I was hoping to find out what room she was in," was the snide response.

"You'll have to wait while I finish this call," Megan told her, and then turned back to the phone call, giggling at something the man on the other end said. Ashley A. rolled her eyes, leaned forward, snatched the phone from Megan's hand and hung it up. "Hey!"

"Listen here, Nurse Megan! My friend was in a fire; I would like to know if she's all right, and maybe go see her. If you could kindly give me the room number I'll be on my way and you can get back to talking to your boyfriend," Ashley A. snapped, "Unless you'd like me to report you for making personal phone calls."

"You can't do that," Megan hissed, standing up, "I'm calling security..."

"Ashley A.!" a woman cried from behind them. Both women turned, looking to the short black woman running up to them and throwing her arms around the taller blonde haired woman.

"Ashley B.? Where's Ashley T.?"

"Come on, she's down this hall," Ashley B. led her away sending a dirty look Nurse Megan's way. "She's a little bitch, gave me just as much trouble. But that's all right; her boyfriend is, like, so cheating on her. Can you believe this? Someone trying to burn Ashley T. alive, it's like something out of a horror movie, or a crappy story..." They heard the front doors of the hospital slam open and turned. A group of paramedics rushed in, wheeling a white slab into the hospital, a young man lying unconscious atop it, dripping wet.

"He washed up from the lake," one of the paramedics shouted to Megan sitting up now from behind her counter and staring wide-eyed, "He's suffering from minor abrasions and burns. We had to resuscitate him at the lake, he's stable now, but he could have sustained injuries that we aren't aware of."

"There's an empty room down the hall, I'll send the doctor," Megan cried after them as the paramedics pushed their way down the hall, rushing briskly past the stunned Ashleys.

"Gus...?" Ashley A. whispered staring undoubting at the young man pushed past them, "I have to make a phone call, Ashley B." She turned on her heel, rushing back to the front counter and grabbing the phone from Megan.

"What are you...? There are payphones down the hall!" Megan screamed, but Ashley A. had already dialed, and besides, nobody told her what to do.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli shuffled through the pictures, her eyes bleary. The taunting had ended, whoever was holding her there was gone as far as she could tell. She'd given up looking for a way out, knowing if she ever found one, it would be locked anyways.

So, Spinelli sorted through the pictures, trembling fingers looking through them, one by one. The snapshots were taken everywhere from the New York apartment Spinelli shared with TJ, all around the city. There were pictures of Spinelli at the gym, in the girls' locker room, sparring, in her home gym, in the bathroom, in public restrooms, shopping, in dressing rooms, in classes, at work! Most of the pictures were defaced; scribbled on our cut up. Though, the ones that bothered her most were the older ones, of her in her old room when she was much younger, one of her making out with TJ at his old house when they were supposed to be studying in, well, it appeared to be the eighth grade. It seemed to be her captor's way of showing that whoever had taken the pictures had been doing so for a long time. The one picture that didn't seem to fit was the one of the doll and the little girl. It disturbed and disgusted Spinelli.

Spinelli picked herself off the ground. She'd never been one to sit around and do nothing. She had to move about, get her muscles in motion. She threw her fist at one of the walls, knocking several pictures to the ground, turned into a round house kick in the empty air and bit her lower lip in frustration and strained pain. Her body was still sore from everything that had happened, from nearly getting hit by that car. She slammed a cross punch into the other wall, bruising her hand and revealing the wall behind the pictures, the hard gnarled wood. Pushing pictures out of the way, Spinelli clawed at the wall behind, hitting it in rapid succession to no avail. She sunk to the ground again, lost, hopeless. How long could she be held here? How long did her captor plan to hold her?

There was still a picture clinging to the wall. Spinelli pulled herself up to examine it. It was a solo picture of TJ, the only one she'd seen. He wasn't dressed, and was lying down, sleeping in a place that Spinelli didn't recognize. The camera was close to him. Whoever took the picture was standing above him. Spinelli pulled the picture down, feeling...something...like scribbles or pen markings on the back of the picture; she flipped it over. The word, that single word, "mine" was written several times, covering the back of the picture in red ink to the point where the repeated words mingled together and Spinelli could hardly tell where one began and another ended.

"You can't have him..." Spinelli whispered. She dropped the picture, looking up and around the room, screaming, "YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! Leave him alone...you can't have him..."

* * *

END A/N: Too short...too short...I know...I disappoint myself with it's choppy shortness...sigh...is it getting interesting yet? There's too much story to tell... 

I apologize for that little "rant" up above, just settling a score. I'm kind of running an experiment and Crescant Moon78 is my little (disappointing) guinea pig, so to speak, I'm trying to see how stupid she (or is it a he?) really is. So please, don't poke the idiot.

PLEeeeeaaassseeee _**REVIEW**_! That's all.

Thanks for reading and excuse any grammatical and typing errors (any grammatical errors probably are typing errors anyways...blech...oh well...GRIN!)

Until next time.


	15. Going Back To School

A/N: Okay, this took me a while, but it's up! Finally! Yay, and it contains scary stuff...at least I think so...

Alright! Thanks to **TheNextPoliticalDynasty** (that's right, it's always the school's fault and don't ever forget that.) **xXxSarahxXx** (calm thyself, TJ and Spinelli will find one another all in good time...but will it be a happy reunion considering what TJ's done? That's a question to consider), **goofymonkeychild** (I'm glad you caught that joke...hehe...what can I say, I'm a modest gal. I'm glad you're back on my review board too), and **_MOMO-CHAN IS BACK!_** (Yay...hehe...alright Momo-chan you're not being an idiot, you have to be overly analytical with my stories, because if you're not, you'll miss certain things...and I love taking characters that others portray as "evil" and giving them a little more depth than that. If you liked that characterization wait 'till Randall comes into the story, it'll blow your mind...or not...we'll see...) THANKS FOR REVIEWING MY LOYAL READERS, YOU ALL ROCK. very much so, yes.

ON WITH THE STORY...caps are fun...hehe...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 15: Going Back To School

TJ and Vince walked in silence down that path of road that they'd both walked down side by side so many times before. They stopped in front of the Grundler house; painted white and blue, the black mailbox in front with the golden letters seemed so inescapably memorable. TJ touched the black peeling paint with trembling fingers. There was a dent in the side.

"I still remember when you broke your arm on this," TJ commented, looking over to Vince.

"I want to find Spinelli, TJ, not talk about old times that are better left forgotten," Vince snapped, though his eyes lingered on that mailbox dent.

"Rightâ€umâ€Spinelli came here after she left her own home," TJ went on, he pointed to the door, "She leaves the house upset, not really caring where she's heading"

"You sure she was upset," Vince asked, doubtfully.

"Her and Gretchen were in the same room together, Vince, I'd bet good money that she wasn't happy when she left," TJ told him, making his way to the door, "She left the house, and there's the wall hereâ€the best path to run isâ€that way," TJ pointed down the road away from the direction they'd come.

"And she's upset, so she doesn't care which way she runsâ€the easier the better," Vince stated, "Not to mention, the other direction leads back homeâ€back to all the problems she's trying to escape from."

"Let's go then," TJ said, motioning Vince to take the lead. They began their trek again, in silence once more.

"When did you and Spinelli" Vince started, breaking the silence, "Never mind"

"When did we get together?" TJ finished for him, eyes focused on the ground, bracing for the inevitable argument that was bound to follow.

"Yeah" Vince looked away, his jaw held taut. It seemed to be something Vince needed to know, but TJ wasn't sure if he could talk about it.

"End of 6th grade, right before summer," TJ finally answered silently.

"Humphâ€it didn't matter because we weren't buds anymore, huh?" Vince questioned, turning a glare on his former best friend. They'd been through so much together.

"That's not it" TJ mumbled. He kicked a rock on the sidewalk, watched it roll into the gutter. How could he explain all the emotions he'd been through that year? When him and Spinelli started talking again, hanging out again, like old times, how could he explain that?

"Then what is it?" Vince demanded, "You knew how I felt and you snaked her from me."

"I didn't do anything! She" TJ trailed off, shaking his head, biting down that anger, "Do you know how much it hurt, feeling the way I did about Spinelli and knowing I could never do anything about it because my best friend, who I didn't want to lose, felt the same about her."

"You're kidding me," Vince spat maliciously, stopping in his tracks, glowering at TJ, "You held back because you didn't want to lose my friendship? What a joke. I bet you started dating her to get back at me."

"Oh, fuck you," TJ muttered, "You're the one kidding yourself. Yeah right, I stayed with Spinelli, spent every bit of free time I had with her, went through fights, and making up _just to get back at_ _you_? I did it all just so I could come back here five years later, oddly at the same time as _you_, and make _you_ jealous? What a load of crapâ€do you not realize how ridiculous you sound right now? I started dating Spinelli because I wanted to, because of how I felt about _her_, not _you_. I never gave _you_ a thought when I was with Spinelli."

"Whateverâ€but now Spinelli knows everything. Now she knows how I feel, and she can make a better decision based on that," Vince said, continuing walking.

"You are unbelievable you know that?" TJ shook his head again, "You don't even realize how much pain you're causing her."

"Me? I'm not the one causing her pain," Vince chuckled at the prospect, "You're the one that hurt her."

"Maybe I didâ€but you helped," TJ told him, "And forcing her to decide like thisâ€well, it's not a happy-go-lucky experience for her." They stopped, reaching an intersection. They looked both ways. "You know," TJ started, glancing to the left, "If she walked down this way, eventually the road turnsâ€and you know where that would take her, right?"

"The school," Vince concluded, knowing exactly where the road went, "But why would she go to the school?"

"I don't know," TJ started walking down the road, "But then again, she wasn't thinking straight." Vince didn't argue, following TJ without question or protest.

Few cars drove past, and the sun was beginning its descent. For a long time they walked in silence, not wanting or needing to talk to one another. They were too busy thinking over their own problems and feelings, trying to sort through that new fight, those new statements. Eventually, they found themselves finally standing outside the building that held the most prominent effect on their youth. Third Street Elementary, the embodiment of their childhood.

"Old Rusty is still standing," TJ observed, smiling at that small piece of so many memories.

"She's not here, TJ," Vince muttered, frustrated, "Waste of time. She's not here; she can't be in there seeing as how it's all locked up. She's a bit old to be hopping fences. Let's keep looking."

TJ sighed, looking around, and not so certain that Spinelli would ever be too old to hop a fence. He stood there silently scanning the playground, the sidewalk, the chain link fence, looking for any sign, any clue that she'd walked by there. His eyes fell on a piece of gloss paper stuck to a bush sticking out of the fence. A photograph. He bent, picking it up and examining it, his mouth opening slightly.

"Spin" he mumbled. It was a picture of her, lying on the ground, unconscious, there in front of the school. Vince took the picture from TJ, looking up at the school and back down at the photo.

"She was here," he whispered, "Where was she taken?" Vince glanced up to look at the playground, and then lifted his head, to look again. Had he just seen someone standing, watching them? A little girl maybe? The wind picked up, causing goose bumps to trail up his arms. "Can we get going? This place is giving me the creeps."

"We have to find"

A scream cut through the silence of the day; shrill and sorrow-filled, like a dying animal. TJ and Vince turned to the school, eyes wide.

"TJâ€we have to leave" Vince whispered.

"No," TJ told him, determination steadying his voice, "I'm going in."

"TJ, you don't know what's in there," Vince argued.

"Spinelli was here, Vince. We know that she was. You can stay behind if you want, but I have to go in there, I have to find her," TJ said, staring up at the building he knew so well. He grasped the fence, pulling himself up. He hadn't jumped a fence in a long time so he was surprised that it didn't take him long to get to the other side. It was however a surprise when Vince leapt down on the pavement beside him.

"You think I'm letting you go in there yourself?" Vince scoffed when he received a quizzical look from TJ; "Somebody has to watch your back because I know you'll get yourself in deeper shit than we're already in. And we're supposed to stay together, remember? Mikey and the others would never forgive me if I left you alone." TJ nodded and Vince quickly added, "No matter how tempted I am." TJ smiled slightly, it was good to know that Vince was with him, almost like old times. They crossed the playground, knowing that the scream came from somewhere inside the school itself.

"I think we can still get in through the basement entrance," TJ said, leading them to the side of the building where twin wooden planks were laid out like cellar doors. TJ bent down to examine them. "They're locked," he commented, searching his pockets for something he could use to pick the locks. He found nothing.

"There's still the ventilation," Vince suggested.

"You think you can fit in them?"

"_Do you think you can?"_

"Let's go then," TJ sighed, standing up.

There were two places to get in through the ventilation; the front of the school, which was exposed to the street and any traffic or passer-bys, or the back of the school where the dumpsters lay and the smell was the only threat. So of course, the back was their best choice. Vince stood by keeping watch while TJ unscrewed the vent cover, and took a guesstimate of how big it was.

"I think we'll fit," TJ finally decided, then lifted himself into the tiny tunnel. Vince followed shortly, lifting the cover up to put back in place. TJ's estimation proved to be correct, and the young men crawled through the tunnels with varying ease. Because of Vince's height, he practically had to drag himself through the vents on his belly, but TJ was able to move through the metal vents as though he were still a ten-year old boy.

"You know where you're going?" Vince called up to TJ.

"Yeahâ€I thought I wouldn't, but now that we're in here, it seems like I never left Third Street" TJ replied, "You remember when we used the vents to sneak into the equipment room and retrieve all of the good balls for the rest of the kids on the playground?" Vince grinned, remembering that event clearly. They'd been the heroes of the playground, but all they wanted to do was ensure that everyone had a good recess that day and that the best kickball made it's way to their scheduled game with the third graders. TJ had had some good plans back then, making life so much more enjoyable for the gang. He'd had such a strong sense of what was right and what needed to be done, of what being a kid was all about.

"Yeah, or what about the time you deployed that stink bomb in the vents so it would circulate throughout the school and we all got sent home for the day while the building was fumigated?" Vince chuckled, "We all went to eat ice cream sundaes at Kelso's."

"I believe Prickly had a lecture on Ear Care planned for that day," TJ snickered. They broke into laughter until they realized whom they were with and fell silent.

"I remember the last time we used the vents for one of your pranks. A little girl ended up dead," Vince stated coldly. TJ said nothing to that, turning at a corner and, kicking the vent cover off, slipped out of the ventilation into a classroom. Vince followed, placing the cover back where it belonged. They looked around. The classroom was bare. An empty teacher's desk sat at the front with rows of student desks lined to the back of the room.

"It smells the same," TJ noted, making his way to the door and cracking it open. He glanced out, Vince standing beside him.

There didn't seem to be anyone in the halls or any sign that someone had been in that building for a long time, which somewhat surprised TJ at first. That is, until he realized, of course no one would be there. His father had explained the school had been shut down for nearly three years and wouldn't be reopening until the next school year. TJ motioned Vince to follow him and they made their ways out of the room.

The halls were eerily bare. No student work posted. No encouraging posters. No flyers advertising clubs or yearbooks. Nothing. They walked down the halls, ears perked for any sounds of motion.

-0-0-0-0-

Mikey balanced one of the film rolls on his nose, only for it to fall and roll across the floor away from him. A newcomer to the microfiche room, the only other occupant, gave him an odd look. Gretchen paused, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Will you cut that out, Mikey," Gretchen snapped, "One would assume you hadn't matured a moment out of kindergarten."

"We've been here for four hours, Gretchen," Mikey whined, "You won't let me help you look, you won't tell me what you're looking for, you won't take a break so we can get something to eat or anything"

"Go take a break then, Mikey. I have to work," Gretchen hissed.

"I can't leave you here aloneâ€what if our little psycho got you?" Mikey questioned. Their silent company, a young woman who appeared to be a college student eyed them funny. Gretchen smiled at her sheepishly, and then turned an angry glare on Mikey.

"Will you not talk about that here?" she whispered roughly.

"Gretch, you're starting to get little wrinkles in the corners of your eyes from squinting at the scanner," Mikey argued, "You've got huge bags, your eyes are turning red! All you have found in the past several hours we've been here, wasting our time in my opinion, is little updates on the progress of the construction on the school gym! You've only made it through five years of papers. Do you have to look at the town paper, as well as every county and state paper?"

"I've told you before, _Mikey_," Gretchen snarled, "I'm not certain of what I'm looking for or where I would find it! This is how I work, if you have a problem with that"

"I do have a problem with that," Mikey cried out in frustration, "Four hours, Gretchen! Four damn hours! And you have found nothing! Nothing, nada, zip, zilch! Whatever the hell you are looking for must not be there! Otherwise you would have found it in the same time frame as"

"IT HAS TO BE HERE!" Gretchen screamed. The college student grabbed her bag, slipping out of the room.

"What, Gretchen? What are you looking for?"

"I don't know. Some hintâ€some clueâ€some link to the past to stir my memory, remind me of what this is all about," Gretchen sobbed, "I can't rememberâ€it's like a science experiment that can't be tested, Mikeyâ€I can't figure out the solution"

"Gretchenâ€allow me to help you," Mikey pleaded. He pulled his chair beside her, rubbed her hand soothingly. She smiled half-heartedly at him. "Your first smile since you returned here," Mikey noticed. She looked a bit stunned, running an absent hand across her mouth and realizing for the first time how moody she'd been. Mikey pushed loose red strands behind her ears, kissed the side of her head, surprised she was allowing him to.

"I'm sorry, Mikey," she whispered, "I'm sorry things are the way they are."

"So'm I," Mikey replied. He smiled softly at her, "But there's no use apologizing if we don't plan on doing anything about it. Do weâ€do you?" Gretchen looked thoughtful, twisting her hair around her finger. Tears cascading down her cheeks, gathering at her chin and dripping on the scanner.

"How come you've changed?" Gretchen questioned, "You're like the old Mikey again."

"I suppose it has to do with TJ," Mikey shrugged and Gretchen nodded, knowingly.

"Gus should have never called TJ," Gretchen chuckled jokingly, "I mean, _look_ at meâ€I'm a mess. If Gus and TJ hadn't conspired together, if TJ had never come back hereâ€I would still hate everyone and never look like this." Mikey wiped the tears from his own cheeks, feeling a knot of happiness grow in his throat. "It's true, I guess, you can't resist TJ Dettwieler's charm," she traced the bottoms of her eyes with shaking fingers, trying to clean up the mascara that was running. She smiled up at the large blonde man adding quietly, "Or the Mikey Blumberg charm." He slipped an arm over her shoulders.

"Did weâ€was that us talking things out?" Mikey inquired. Gretchen laughed which felt so good, and she found herself wrapping her arms around his chest and laying her head on his broad shoulder.

"I think so." They sat like that, finding comfort in that long forgotten place, the warm arms of a good friend.

They heard the door open again and pulled away from one another, seeing the college student return, taking her seat again and looking at them baffled and shaking her head. Mikey cleared his throat, looking down at the scanner.

"That's odd" Mikey mumbled, pointing down at the newspaper image. Gretchen's eyes trailed down to where his finger lay. "I didn't know they wanted to tear that down," Mikey said.

"Debate rises over whether to tear down old boathouse on Third Street Lake," Gretchen read, "Governor Gustav Delavan plans to replace the boathouse with a new resort on the lake. However protestors to said idea, Mayor Third himself being amongst them, argue that the boathouse is a historical landmark and should be preserved as such," Gretchen shrugged, looking to Mikey, "The governor must have lost. This was almost ten years ago, and that boathouse is _still_ standing. When I walked by it, I saw it there."

"Gretchen" Mikey mumbled, "The governor's name is Gus."

"What? So" Gretchen's eyes widened, "'_Gus will never win the debate'_â€this can't be what it was talking aboutâ€can it?"

"It does seem suspicious," Mikey told her, "An odd coincidence?"

"I'm not sure" Gretchen said, rolling back to the beginning of the newspaper, "I won't know until I've looked through this whole thingâ€and even then"

"Alright, then let's start looking"

-0-0-0-0-

TJ trailed his hand along the wall, walking beside Vince in wary silence. He turned his head. Did he just see a movement down that hall? Maybe a shadow?

"TJ" Vince whispered. TJ looked at him. "There's no one here, let's go."

"Are you scared, Vince?"

"Yes. We're walking through an abandoned school in the dead of night with some psycho out to get us."

"First of all, the school's not abandoned, it's just not in use right now. Second, it's not the dead of night, Vince, it's only 5:40."

"Close enough. I also hate to bring this up, but you know how in scary movies they always say that the black guy"

"Jeez, Vince, can we not talk about that. That's only in the movies. You're not going to die."

"So you say" A giggle. "Did you hear that?" Vince stopped, eyes wide, looking about in fear. TJ turned to him, glanced about, straining to hear what Vince had.

"I didn't hear anything. What did it sound like?" TJ asked. Vince shrugged, wrapping his arms around himself.

"I've heard it beforeâ€right before" Another giggle and the sound of somethingâ€something -metallic? - scraping against the wall.

"_I_ _heard_ _that_," TJ moaned, "Let's get out of here." He grabbed Vince's arm and they broke into a run down the hall, hopefully in the direction away from their pursuer. The giggle, again, closer and louder, echoing off the walls. They ran blindly, turning around a corner where the hall split into the 40's and 70's, Vince threw open the bathroom door and heard it slam shut behind him. The giggling and scraping sound were gone.

"I think we lost 'em, TJ," Vince sighed, trying to catch his breath, "TJ?" No answer. He turned around, fear filled eyes searching the empty tiled room. "TJ? TJ? Oh man" The giggling, again. He turned, searching the room. "Who's there?" he cried bravely. No answer. Did the room just get hotter? Like a sauna, the air was burning up. There was a smell of ashâ€another giggle. He turned again, facing the sinks; they were stained with blackened red and the mirrors. Cracked mirrors, each reflecting his face, contorted with horror, and a little blonde haired girl standing behind him, features hidden behind tangles of hair, holding a porcelain doll, face bashed in covered in dirt and stained with mud and singe marks. Vince didn't hear himself scream, but he knew he had as he ran from the bathroom.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ finally stopped running, hearing the screams of a young man. He turned, his eyes scanning the vacant hall. "Vince?" he called into the empty air. He stared down the hall in the direction the scream had come from, his mouth parted slightly in a silent gasp. They had turned different directions. He cursed silently under his breath, strained to hear any commotion from their pursuer, and then started in the direction he assumed Vince was in, walking slowly, carefully, hesitantly.

There was nothing but silence, dead quiet clinging about TJ. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, his breath, soft and steady. He trailed his hand along the wall, ran his hand through his hair. He heard the soft sound of footfalls, metal against the wall, the smell of burning, smoldering fire. He'd smelt that somewhere beforeâ€but where? He kept moving, picking up the pace.

"Darlin' you know I love you so" it sounded nothing more than a whisper that TJ barely heard at first, sweet and careful, a shaking unsteady voice singing warily, "â€I'll never let you go" Echoing through the halls. TJ stopped, gulping, turning about in confusion and fear.

"Hello?"

"â€but you're gonna leave me darlin'â€I'll follow you wherever you go"

"I don't know who you are" TJ called out, "I'm here for Spinelli." The singing stopped for a long moment of time the school's halls were silent again.

"â€baby, you know I love you" another song, different, "â€something's keeping us apart" angrier, "â€but someday you'll come again" louder, "â€you'll want me back" more confidant, "â€you'll be _too late_." Too late.

"Where's Spinelli? What do you want from us? Why are you doing this?"

"I told you to stay" a shaky, childish whisper. TJ's heart skipped, his throat went dry, and he couldn't swallow. "Why didn't you stay, TJ?" He clenched his fists, his stomach turning.

"What have you done with Spinelli?" he demanded, tears coming to his eyes, "Who are you?" An anguished cry came from down the hall and stirred TJ to action. He turned; sprinting towards Vince's direction, praying his former friend was all right.

"DON'T LEAVE!" came the uncontrolled scream. TJ turned into the first open door, nearly running into the taller young man, who was gaping, and facing the other side of the room.

"Vince!" TJ cried, almost throwing his arms around the man in relief, but stopping himself. Vince was staring at a panel of screens. Lined up and stacked, three rows of three.

"Security cameras," Vince explained, "We're in the AV roomâ€I didn't know they had this kind of setup."

"They must have recently put it inâ€what's wrong?" Vince pointed to the screen at the farthest corner.

"Wait for it" he told him. TJ stared at the screen as it flickered from different hallways and different classrooms, his ears perked, listening for sounds of their pursuer. Finally, it flickered to a classroom that seemed out of place. TJ didn't take time though to examine it and figure out where it was, because something caught his eye, most likely what caught Vince's eye. A hunched over figure, huddled in one corner of the room, head ducked down, black hair falling over shoulders and face. TJ didn't need to see the figure's features, though; he would know that person anywhere.

"Spinelli" he whispered. He stepped up to the screen touching it with gentle fingers, falling to his knees. The image had changed again, but he still saw her sitting there. "Spinâ€go back to _her_ damn it! Is she all right? Did she look alright?" TJ cried desperately, tapping the screen, laying his forhead against it, closing his eyes, and whispering, "We're coming, Spinelliâ€please be alright." Vince just stood by, watching, not knowing what to say.

"TJ?" Vince finally spoke up, his voice a little strained, "The bathroomâ€I ranâ€I saw herâ€Mary Anna, it had to be her."

"She's dead, Vince, it can't be," TJ whispered, unmoving. His eyes snapped open. "This is my fault," TJ muttered, "It's my fault, what happened to Mary Anna. She's after me."

"Don't flatter yourself, TJ," Vince spat, "But my bruised body says otherwise."

"Noâ€sheâ€I" TJ fell flat. He couldn't tell Vince what he'd done. He had to talk to Spinelli first. She had to know first. He felt sick enough, knowing that he'd slept with that psycho. He didn't need Vince adding to the pain at that moment, or turning on him. They needed to work together to get to Spinelli.

"Where do you think she is?" Vince asked, making a wise subject change. Even though him and TJ were no longer close, he could still sense the way TJ felt and part of him still cared for the boy he'd once recognized as leader and best friend. Even as he felt so much animosity towards the man before him, he could still see that little boy with the red baseball cap and rumpled gray cotton jacket. And Vince couldn't hate that boy. No, he could never hate him.

"I don't know," TJ pulled himself off the ground, walking to the control panel and examining it. "If Gretchen were here"  
"But she's not," Vince interrupted, knowing exactly the words that were going to come out of the shorter man's mouth. "Now would be an excellent time for one of your outstanding Dettwieler Plans."

"That would be nice," TJ sighed, "Except I don't make plans like that anymore." Vince narrowed his eyes at him.

"You don't make plans anymore," Vince repeated incredulously, "Now is not the best time to tell me this!" TJ shrugged. He looked back at the screens, watched them flicker, looking between the different screens.

"I think I know what room it is" he mumbled.

"Which room?" Vince asked.

The screens went blank, each one shattering. The glass shards flew through the air, one cutting into TJ's cheek, slicing deep. His hand went up to shield the rest of his face, the same with Vince who wasn't close enough to the screens to take as much damage as TJ, which allowed Vince to recover faster, making his way out the door. It slammed shut behind him. He turned, able to see TJ's desperate face turned to the door through the window; blood pouring down his cheek from the gash the glass had left. TJ ran to the door, fumbling with the knob. It was locked, and he couldn't seem to unlock it from the inside.

"Come on, TJ!" Vince cried nervously. TJ stopped struggling with the knob, meeting Vince's eyes. Vince knew what _that_ look meant. "No," he told him, "I'm not leaving you here."

"You have to," TJ hissed, his voice muffled by the door, "You have to get Spinelli." Vince jumped back, seeing a figure move across the room behind TJ. His breath came in sharp. The deep loyalty he'd thought he'd lost for his former friend returning.

"Leave him alone," Vince cried through the door. TJ turned, looking at somethingâ€no, most likely someone. TJ turned back to Vince, brow furrowed with obvious fear, but jaw held stiff, stubborn. "No" Vince protested.

"The basement," TJ told him firmly, "It has to be. There was no window. Save her, Vince. Get her out of here. _Don't let me down_."

"I"

"Go Vince!" TJ commanded, "GO!" Vince nodded, turning away and bolting down the hall, trying to recall how to get to the basement from inside the school.

TJ turned away from the door, searching the darkness of the room for that hidden person he knew was there. He pressed his back to the door for support, searching. He saw motion to his right, turned his head. From the shadows she stepped, her hair falling in tangles in her face, her eyes deadened brown. She wasn't a little girl. She was a woman.

"You" TJ whispered, confused. "It's been you all along"

-0-0-0-0-

Vince ran down the stairwell to the brown door with the word "Basement" etched into it. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. With a burst of strength and energy, he kicked the door and it was thrown open from his force.

"Teejâ€?" a startled voice whispered. Vince couldn't ignore the sting that single name left. He walked into the well-lit room. There was a small form huddled in the corner, a frightened young woman, legs drawn up to her chest, eyes lifted slightly to stare at him, filled with tears streaming down her cheeks. He held his hand out to her.

"Let's go," he said. She stared at him, blankly, not sure what to say.

"Vince" she started, and then looked around at the walls. He followed suit, noticing finally the pictures, the thousands of Polaroid pictures that adorned the place. "She's been taking picturesâ€she's been stalking us, Vince. TJ and me." Spinelli held a picture up to Vince that she'd been grasping tightly to her chest. He took it from her shaking fingers, looked at it. It was picture of TJ. He wasn't awake in the picture, as far as Vince could tell, nor was he dressed. He looked a wreck, his hair a mess, his face and body glistening with sweat. Vince raised an eyebrow at Spinelli, as she stood up beside him, flipped the picture over. The word "mine" was written in red ink, several times.

"He was rightâ€this psycho is after him," Vince murmured, crestfallen, he buried his head in his hands, "I never should have left him"

"What do you mean?" Spinelli asked, her voice a squeak, "Where's TJ?"

"We have to go Spinelli," Vince told her, shaking his head, "We have to get out of here."

"Where's TJ?" Spinelli cried, "Not until you tell me where he is!"

"I think she got him" Vince croaked, "He's probably gone now. He told meâ€he told me to get you out of here. That's what I'm going to do." Spinelli shook her head at him, pouting stubbornly.

"No"

"We have to," Vince said solemnly. She struck him, her fist connecting evenly with his jaw. Vince said nothing, taking the hit in silence. She made to strike him again, determined to beat him until TJ appeared, but Vince grabbed her arm mid-swing. She wasn't even trying; there was no force behind her throws, no real anger. She was crying.

"He's gone?" she questioned, her voice so soft and innocent.

"He'll be alright," Vince promised, "We'll find him. I'll find him." She nodded, letting Vince drag her away. He was still grasping the photo of TJ.

-0-0-0-0-

Theresa hadn't expected a call, but she picked it up on the first ring anyways.

"Kelso's Diner and Convenience Store," she greeted in confusion.

"Like, finally!" a chipper voice cried on the other end.

"Ashley A.?" Theresa questioned.

"I have been, like, attempting to call you for, like, half an hour! The phone line was, like, always busy. Like, what have you been up to?"

"I've been calling the people Gretchen told me to, trying to get a hold of someone," Theresa explained, still uncertain as to why she was talking to Ashley A. who seemed to have reverted back to her fourth grade self, from the way she was talking. She sounded excited.

"Progress?"

"Menlo hung up on me, Butch isn't answering, and Francis checked out of his hotel nearly two hours ago."

"Damn," Ashley A. mumbled.

"Why are you calling?"

"Oh yeah," Ashley A. cried happily, "Have I got new for you!"

"What is it?"

"Gus."

"What? Where? Is he all right? Are you with him? Can I talk to him?"

"Calm down, they brought him into the hospital, like, half an hour ago, when I first started calling you," Ashley A. laughed, "He's here. They say he's, like, going to be all right. I think you should, like, come down here."

"I'll try," Theresa sighed, "But it started raining outside. I don't know if I could make it. I'm worried about everyone else, Gretchen and Mikey are still at the library, they called ten minutes ago, said they think they made a discovery. But Vince and TJ are still out there looking for Spinelli and the storm is getting worse."

"I'll like, send my driver," Ashley A. told her, "You should so be by his side."

"Thanks, Ashley A.," Theresa said, smiling softly, "Have you spoken to the other Ashleys? I mean, about what's been going on?"

"Not yet. I didn't have a chance. They brought Gus in right after I arrived here and I thought I should call you so you'd know. Is that, like, lucky or what?"

"Yeah, lucky" Theresa chuckled. Ashley A. had an odd idea of luck, but at least Gus was alright, "I don't know if I should leave Kelso's though, what if Gretchen and Mikey call again."

"I'll contact them at the library," Ashley A. told her, "Give them my cell number."

"Alright."

"My driver should be there in, like, ten minutes."

"Thanks, I'll see you then."

"Right. Bye!"

"Bye." Theresa hung up the phone, pulling herself up on her feet and waddling to the door. She glanced outside. The sky was covered with gray rain clouds and all the heavens seemed to be falling on the small town. She touched the glass door pane. In the distance she could see the lake and someone walking through the rain, dragging somethingâ€someone. She shook her head, blinked her eyes. The figure was gone. She sighed. She was seeing things. Gus, Theresa smiled, he was safe. She would be by his side soon.

* * *

END A/N: Who can it be? Finally, we reveal the psycho...but does it end the mystery? Not by a long shot.

Alright, the songs: The first one was "Shed So Many Tears" by whoknowswho?,'causeIdon't. AND the second was "You'll Be Too Late" by Don Rich. Bayou songs from cajun country (Louisianna, Mississippi, Georgia, and all those other little Southern states down there). I know that "Tom Dooley" is a western song, but I love it and it fit. So there.

Is this story getting odd or is it just me? It's got a few more chapters to go...don't fret yet.

NOW, go **_REVIEW_**. and THANKS for reading, please excuse any and all grammatical and typing errors. JOY TO YOU! Love much and see ya' next time. I feel so bloody brilliant right now...that feeling will pass soon.


	16. As The Fire Rages On

A/N: Man, I am _sooooo_ tired. I had such a writer's block on this one. And then, in a flash of inspiration, it came to me and I wrote like **crazy**.

Thanks to of course, TheNextPoliticalDynasty (nope, it's not based on i know what you did last summer, because frankly, I've never really seen that movie, just bits and pieces...and yes you should update your own pieces because I can't very well read my own story updates, I wrote the thing!), xXxSarahxXx (hehe...you flatter me so...blush, blush), and to RavenForever whom I would have missed thanking if I didn't always check my reviews when I write my author notes (I'm always so flattered when people praise my work so highly, even as I don't feel that it's quite so great...I am my worst critic...bleh...thanks for coming back to my review board and I hope you do keep your vow, because I love reviews and you're so kind. I don't doubt that maybe you have figured out who "the" psycho is, but I hope this chapter throws you off a little. I say "the" because there might not be one, I don't know though, how would I know! hehe...and I always say, emotions are my forte, I love working with emotions, it's great to be able to feel, isn't it? I know, I may be the psycho...) I loves you guys much. Keep up with the reviews and I'll keep up with the updates.

One for the money, two for the show, three to get going...let's roll! Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 16: As the Fire Rages On 

Spinelli and Vince seemed to stumble through the rain. They could barely see an inch in front of their face, but they kept moving. Vince would squeeze Spinelli's hand every now and then to make sure she was still with him, but she remained silent. He felt it was best to not attempt speaking with her. She'd been expecting TJ to burst through that door and rescue her, not him. He sighed, wiping at his eyes, blinking away the drops of rain collecting in his lashes. He didn't know where they were headed. Kelso's seemed like a good place to go, but they would need a change of clothes. He considered home, but his parents would be there and they would ask questions. He didn't want to put Spinelli through that. There was nowhere to go. He felt a tug at his hand and realized Spinelli had stopped moving. He turned to her quizzically, but she was looking away from him, back towards the school. He couldn't read her features, but he knew that something was wrong.

"Spinelli..." Vince cried, "We have to keep moving..." Vince narrowed his eyes at her. Did she hear him? The wind was picking up, howling through the streets. What was she looking at? He looked in the direction her face was turned, attempted to shield his eyes from the pelting raindrops. There it was. Something was moving. A person maybe? Moving towards them, fast. He tugged at her arm, tried to get her moving again, but she seemed...entranced.

Spinelli and Vince could feel the wind rush past them, and tossed their arms in front of them to cover their faces, as dagger like shards flew past them, imbedding in their vulnerable flesh. Vince could hear Spinelli scream and was certain that he too was crying out in agony and fear. He saw something knock Spinelli to the ground, heard the splash of water and felt the bleak pain as a blunt object struck him hard in the chest. He struggled to stand on his feet, knocked back from the impact, breathe escaping his lungs. _Save her, Vince, get her out of here_...TJ's words. Vince grasped his chest, searched through the rain and wind for Spinelli, calling her name even though he himself couldn't hear his voice. Blood was dripping from his arms, legs and forehead, and the rain was striking like ice sickles against his torn skin. He saw motion a few feet from him, someone pulling them self up.

"Spinelli," Vince cried, pushing his way towards her. But their attacker was on the move again, he could see the dark figure swoop down on Spinelli's form, grab her, throw her down again. She slammed into the pavement, but recovered quickly, on her feet again, grasping her surroundings. The figure advanced on her again, but she was ready, dodging and lashing out where she could. Vince came in at a sprint, attempting to jump on the attacker, who was taking the advantage over Spinelli, knocking her back, striking a fist across her jaw, and knocking her back, off her guard. But Vince felt thin air as he leapt, slamming onto the pavement, scraping his chin and elbows, and shaking his already bruised body. Someone's foot connected with his side, and he felt the fading darkness start to overtake him. _Save her, Vince...get her out of here..._

"TJ...?" Vince moaned. _Don't let me down_. "Let _you_ down?" Vince mumbled cynically, "_You let me down_..." They weren't friends anymore. Vince hated TJ. TJ who was to blame for everything; Mary Anna, these assaults, Spinelli...yes, TJ was to blame. He had to be, right? There was the metallic taste of blood in Vince's mouth and his head was swimming. He'd been attacked three times in one day. TJ was gone. It didn't matter if he let TJ down or not. They weren't friends anymore. Then why did Vince promise Spinelli that he'd find TJ? Why did he promise himself he'd find TJ? Why was he so determined to make sure he kept those promises he'd made to TJ? Why was it killing him knowing he left TJ behind like that? Why was it that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he pretended, he never _really_ hated TJ?

-0-0-0-0-

Gretchen sat waiting for Mikey to replace the rest of the microfiche films while she gathered up what she needed. She was going to print out the paper, unsure if it really meant anything, but knowing that that paper was pointing her in the direction of the old boathouse, though it's ties to the gang and their mysterious attacker was yet unknown to her.

Mikey returned by her side, looking down at her, tired and frowning.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded, pulling herself up and following him from the microfiche room. The library was almost empty; it was going to close soon. Mikey and Gretchen had been silent, unable to find words to express the feelings rushing through them at the moment. They were halfway through the library when they heard a loud boom, and the lights went off. They were surrounded in dark.

"Mikey..." Gretchen whispered, her voice quavering.

"I'm still here, Gretchen," Mikey said reassuringly. "Is it hot in here?" He felt Gretchen move closer to him, sweat gathering at his brow. "The lights'll come back on soon, don't worry."

"Mikey...I don't think we're alone," Gretchen told him, her voice low.

"Well, of course," Mikey whispered in reply, "The librarian must be here somewhere."

"Shh..." Gretchen moved away from Mikey, straining to listen. She'd thought she'd heard something...the crackle of a flame? Or perhaps, the slight giggle of a child? Why was it so hot in there?

"Mikey, I think..." Gretchen started, then turned, looking about, "Mikey?" No answer.

-0-0-0-0-

"Gretchen?" Mikey called into the darkness. Where had she gone? He hated to be alone in that dark building. He stumbled about, blindly feeling about with his hands. He ran into a bookshelf, slammed his leg into a table and tripped over a chair. Where was the librarian? Why hadn't she turned on any lights or took proper procedure to ensure safety in this situation? He knocked into something...something hanging from the ceiling. There was a light source on the ground. He bent down, avoiding, well, whatever it was dangling above him and picked up the object. It was a flashlight. He looked about in front of himself knelt on the ground, getting his bearings. He was by the front desk. He stood up, knocking his head into the object above him once more. He turned, angrily wondering what the library would hang from the ceiling like that. A leg. He'd been hitting his head on a human leg. His breathing quickened, his eyes wide. Hesitantly, he raised the light up to get a full view of the woman hanging from the ceiling, a thin cord wrapped about her throat, her eyes bulged out, her face blue, hanging limply.

Mikey felt bile rise in his throat, but attempted to hold it down. The cord had ripped into the woman's throat, blood had trailed down, staining her pretty blouse, but she'd been dead for a while and wasn't bleeding anymore. Mikey closed his eyes, but the image stayed, imprinted in his mind. He regained composure, reopened his eyes and noticed the note attached to the cadaver's foot. Mikey shined the flashlight on the shaky childish handwriting, thin and careful. "Sorry," it read. Mikey turned away, seeing movement between the bookshelves. He shined the light where he'd thought he'd seen motion.

"Gretchen?" he called hesitantly into the darkness. Was that...was that smoke he saw? He went to move forward, but something caught his eye to the other side of him. Gretchen had been right; they weren't alone. Someone was there, lurking in the shadows. And it wasn't the librarian, Mikey looked up at the hanging body remorsefully, that was for certain. He swallowed down his fear and stepped forward, shining the light in front of him and flickering it to the sides of him to check for any hidden figures. He moved quietly, trying to remain aware of everything. But he must not have been aware enough because he sure didn't see that hard wooden object swipe him on the side of his head. He fell. It had only brushed his head, not really connecting in blunt impact, but the force was enough to stun him and blur his vision. The flashlight flew from his hand, slid across the floor. Mikey tried to shake himself back into focus, looking about the room for his attacker. No one. He couldn't see anyone. He was alone again. He brought his hand up to his injured head, holding it and attempting to stand.

Fire. Mikey could see it leap up from the corner of his eye. It was towards the back of the library, but his natural instinct of panic kicked in. He frantically scrambled to his feet, knowing that Gretchen was still somewhere in the library. What if she was back there, in the middle of the inferno?

Mikey fought the urge to run, heading towards the blaze, shielding his eyes, as he got closer.

"Gretchen!" he called, sweat dripping down his cheeks and forehead. He licked his lips, trying to move in closer still, though the heat was unbearable. He saw a dark figure through the flames on the other side of the library, appearing to be wielding a metal tube. "Gretchen?" he called to the strange figure. Then, thinking the worst, "Leave her alone! Who are you?" he demanded. The figure stopped moving, appearing to look in Mikey's direction.

"Who are you?" the figure called back to him. The voice was masculine, though a bit mousy, and seemed somewhat familiar.

"I'm looking for my friend!" Mikey told the stranger.

"A woman?"

"Yeah."

"I think I saw her go down in those flames," the stranger told him.

"Oh cruel god," Mikey cried, "Gretchen! I have to go get her!"

"No," the stranger told him, "I have the fire extinguisher and I'm closer. There's an exit to the left, get out of here. I'll get your friend and meet you out there. There should be a payphone out there also. You should call the police."

"I can't just leave Gretchen ...or you," Mikey protested.

"You have to trust me," the stranger told him. Mikey nodded. This person seemed so familiar.

"Alright, I'll go. Please, be careful," Mikey called, then turned to run towards the exit, glancing back over his shoulder one last time, "Sweet brave man, I wish you well. Please, do not fail me, return Gretchen and yourself to safety." Mikey left in search of the exit and payphone.

-0-0-0-0-

"La...la...la..."

"Hello?" Gretchen called, "Mikey? Miss...um...librarian?" The thick smell of ash filled Gretchen's nostrils, clawing at her nose and throat. "Hello? Anyone?" Gretchen called desperately, overcome with coughing, and slipping to the ground, hand covering her mouth. There had to be a fire somewhere in the library, but where? The air was hot all around her and smoke seemed to be coming in at all angles.

"So sorry..." Was that a quiet whisper Gretchen heard? Something slammed against the back of her head. "You're not the pretty dolly..." She closed her eyes tight, the smoke and heat making her drowsy, and her head pounding. "...But you'll do for now..." What was that sticky stuff in her hair? It was her turn, Gretchen realized, her turn to be tormented. But no one was around. There was no way of escape for her. So this was how it would end. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, she thought as she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, at least she'd been able to make-up with Mikey before she...

"Hang on, Gretchen," someone called to her. It was a voice she recognized...but didn't at the same time. She felt small but sturdy hands slip beneath her arms, someone lifting her slightly, dragging her. Then she was in blackness.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli spit the taste of blood from her mouth, wiping her lips and eyeing her assailant. It wasn't a little girl, that much she could tell. In fact, from the way the figure held itself, Spinelli was beginning to think that she was fighting a short and sturdy man. She saw Vince go down, and lost sight of her attacker. She felt the force of someone throwing her across the pavement, and she stumbled into the middle of the road. She saw the figure advance on Vince's crumpled form. Fists clenched, Spinelli ran towards the figure, crying out in frustration and crouching swinging her leg in front of her along the ground, attempting to swipe the attacker's feet out from under him, but she missed and her foot connected with something soft and vulnerable. Vince's side. A strong hand wrapped in her hair, pulled her head back exposing her neck. She screamed in pain and anger. Her own blood was spilling down her face and arms, washed away by the rain.

Spinelli lashed out, grabbing the hand and digging her fingernails into the flesh. It had no apparent effect. Her captor simply reacted by grabbing her hands with one of his own. The other hand grasped her collar, lifting her with ease to her feet. She felt the man's hot breath against her ear, brush against her neck. She curled away in disgust. His hand lay against her side, and for a moment Spinelli thought he was going to say something or do something to her. Then, he recoiled, throwing her down to the ground and she heard the rapid thucking sound of someone running off. She turned, headlights barreling in at her. Her eyes widened and she felt her heartbeat speed up. She closed her eyes, but the impact she expected never came. The car was right by her, breathing warm air against her face. She heard a car door open and slam shut.

"Who's there?" Vince called weakly. He was trying to pull himself up and was staring at the car in uncertainty.

"Oh dear god...Ashley?" Spinelli's eyes snapped open and she felt a relieved smiled slip across her lips.

"Frankie," she called but her throat was dry and sore. It only came out as a soft whisper. Francis was by her side at once, knelt down and gently helping her up. He looked over to where Vince was sprawled, lamely holding himself up. After making sure that Spinelli was all right, Francis made his way over to Vince, squinting up at him in confusion and receiving a confused look of his own.

"Vincent LaSalle?" Francis questioned.

"Hustler kid?" Vince replied.

"You look like crap."

"And you look damn good for a wet rat." Vince laughed, thankful, clutching his side in pain and slapping an arm over Francis's shoulder in greeting.

"Where'd he go?" Spinelli demanded, limping over to Francis and grabbing a fist full of his collar, "Where'd he go?"

"Who?" Francis asked, baffled and unflinching, though obviously cowering.

"That bastard that attacked us! I'm gonna teach him a lesson he won't soon forget," Spinelli spat.

"I don't know who you're talking about. You're lucky I saw _you_, Ashley, otherwise..." Spinelli released him, feeling lightheaded. Francis moved quicker than Vince, but both shot forward to catch Spinelli as she fell limply. Francis held her gently in his arm, brushing the hair from her eyes and wiping her bloody lip.

"She fainted," he explained to Vince who nodded with a sigh of relief, "She's burning up and she looks really pale," Francis looked up at Vince, "And you look to be in bad shape as well. Get in the car, I think I can make it to the hospital." Vince helped Francis lift Spinelli and they set her gently in the backseat before entering the front seats themselves. Slowly, Francis made his way through the rain, glancing every now and then to his rearview mirror to check on Spinelli who Vince watched like a hawk from the passenger seat.

"Why are you here, hustler kid?" Vince asked.

"I was checking out merchandise, but my seller turned out to be a phony. Never showed up, and I'm guessing never _really_ existed. And you can call me Francis, I don't go by hustler kid anymore," was the reply.

"It's lucky you came along."

"Lucky is an understatement, Vince. I was trying to get out of town. But all the roads are closed because of this damned storm. How come I don't recall it raining this much back when we were kids still living here?" Francis asked. Vince sighed. "But I guess I'm just scraping the edge of all the weird things that have been going on around here since I arrived back in town. Things you won't even..." he paused, looked between Vince and Spinelli then shrugged, "Well, maybe you would. You guys getting randomly attacked in the middle of a goddamned _tsunami_ is weird."

"You don't know the half of it," Vince sighed, laying his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.

"I think you'd better tell me the rest of it," Francis said, "Then I'll tell you what's been happening with me."

"Sounds fair, but you're not gonna believe it," Vince told him, "It's a long story..."

"At the rate I'm driving, it's a long way to the hospital," Francis chuckled nervously.

"Alright...here goes..." Vince began.

-0-0-0-0-

Theresa sighed, sitting back in the plush seat of the silver Cadillac. She glanced out the window, the rain pouring down, and drops of water trailing down the glass pane.

"I'm sorry, miss, but we can't move. I've just been informed that the roads are flooding, we have to leave the vehicle," the driver, a stern man by the name of Bruce told Theresa. She nodded, "Is there anywhere we can go?" He asked, turning to look back at her. Theresa glanced out the window. If the streets were flooding, they'd have to get to higher ground. She glanced at the street names and was struck with a realization.

"The library is up that way," she told him, pointing to a street that turned to the left. Bruce nodded.

"Stay put miss, I'll be right there to help you out," he told her, grabbing an umbrella from beneath the seat and throwing open the car door. She sat waiting while he opened her door and took her hand, helping her out and holding her steady against the wind, shielding her from the rain with his body.

"It looks as though I won't be with Gus," she sighed, letting Bruce lead her down the streets she knew so well but could barely recognize through the storm.

"I'm sorry about that miss," Bruce told her, he attempted to tell her something more but the wind carried away his words. So they walked in silence, Theresa checking her watch. The library would be closed by the time they reached it, but in this storm no one was leaving the building. She could see it in the distance, poking its head up over the hill. Something was wrong. Why was the library so dark? And was that - smoke? Yes, she definitely saw smoke rising up into the damp air, dispersing due to the rain. There came a rush of wind, and Bruce put his arm up protectively in front of Theresa. She felt him thump back, heard him gasp. She turned, tried to hold in the scream as he fell, a large metal object protruding from his chest. He was dead.

"No..." she whispered, falling to her knees beside Bruce.

Theresa was a naval officer, awarded 6 honorable metals for her courage, valor, and strength in the navy. She'd been a commanding officer and, while not on active duty anymore, still held a great deal of respect from most all naval officers, most of whom were men. But the prospect of having to make it to the library alone in that storm seemed impossible to her, and grieving anguish washed over her face as she looked down at the dead driver. Tears poured down her cheeks mingling with rain. She felt a kick in her stomach, a reminder from her unborn child of where she needed to go and whom she held responsibilities to. She bent, picking up the umbrella with wet frozen hands and held her rain slicker tightly about her as she pushed down her fear and sadness towards the library. She had to keep moving.

-0-0-0-0-

Gretchen opened her eyes slightly, and then promptly shut them tightly again. Her head was stinging and opening her eyes only doubled the pain. She was being half carried, half dragged, that much she could tell. She attempted opening her eyes again, grimacing and looked up at the man holding her. He was looking over his shoulder, walking backwards. He had brown curls, cut close to his head, and a slightly hunched and thin build. He was wiry no doubt and had slight muscles as he was quite capably pulling Gretchen. She felt him set her down, breathing heavily. He turned to check on her and was surprised to find her awake. Though, not as surprised as she was to get a better look at his face.

"Uh...are you...I mean...Randall?" Gretchen stuttered, staring at the unmistakable features. Stubby nose, beady eyes, sharp cheeks and a pointed chin. The distinguished look of a weasel, but somewhat softened in areas by the sad frown and the concerned gaze.

"It's good you're awake, Gretchen," he told her, "Can you walk?"

"I...um...I-I-I think," Gretchen stammered, staring unbelievingly at the small young man. She'd once known him as a selfish snitch only out for his own personal gain. Had he really pulled her from that fire?

"Good, the rain is putting out the fire, but not fast enough," he explained, "And I can't get you to safety at the slow pace we're going. Not to mention, I think someone else is here and I don't think they're friendly."

"I don't understand...why...when...how?"

"Why am I here, and when, and how did I get here?" Randall finished for her, "I was already at the library, looking for a good book. I was on my way out when I saw you and Mikey leaving and then the lights shut off." He pointed to his belt where he'd twisted a tiny bendable flashlight securely, "I always carry one with me, just in case," he explained, "We better get moving." He extended a hand to help her up and she stared dumbly at it for a moment before finally taking it. They moved quickly through the library, Gretchen swooning and Randall supporting her. Gretchen glanced over her shoulder at the smoldering fire that had almost consumed her.

"Thanks," she said quietly, thinking for a moment that Randall hadn't heard her. But she distinctly saw from the corner of her eye that he winced, shaking his head, and frowning, seeming to concentrate harder on their destination. Odd, Gretchen thought, very odd.

Randall seemed to know the layout of the library fairly well leading them straight to an exit. He kicked the door open, using both his hands to completely support Gretchen who was growing dizzy and drowsier with each passing moment. He pulled her out the door, which led to the side of the library, a covered parking area.

"Gretchen!" Mikey cried, running over to the two worn out people coming through the door from where he'd been sitting waiting by the payphone. He helped set Gretchen down on the ground and stared in stun at Randall.

"Hey, Mikey," he greeted forlornly.

"Randall?" Mikey cried incredulously. The man before Mikey was not the same little snitch from fourth grade. He was a bit short, thin and sharp featured. He was wearing all black, nice pants and a loose shirt both grayed in areas from the smoke and ash of the fire. He was also wearing a large black leather trench coat, and nice black shoes. He lifted back the jacket revealing a fair-sized black pack, flicking off the flashlight attached to his belt. He opened the pack and removed a plastic white box, opening it.

"You have a first-aid kit too?" Gretchen choked out, staring at Randall in disbelief.

"Just in case," he mumbled.

"What else do you have in there?" Mikey inquired, staring at the pack.

"Things," was the distant reply, "You know...just in case...". He shuffled through the kit, neatly organized, though not fully stocked. He helped Gretchen clean up the back of her head, where she'd been scared by whatever had hit her and Mikey with the bump on his own noggin. The sticky substance in Gretchen's hair was obviously blood. She declined Randall's help on putting on the band-aid, insisting she could do that herself.

"Here," Randall said, handing her another, "Take two."

"I only need one," Gretchen told him, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but it's better if you take two," Randall persisted, handing her the other band-aid. Mikey watched with curiosity and Gretchen simply stared, taking in Randall's actions with an observant eye. She looked at the first-aid kit, taking a quick inventory. Two bottles of disinfectant, which Randall appeared to be... - was he checking to make sure they were even? There was also a bag of cotton balls, smoothened so that it was flawlessly flat, a neatly rolled bandage, and carefully stacked gauzes. Everything seemed to be in perfect order. She counted the band-aids in the box quickly before he shut them up carefully. Eight, as opposed to the nine there would have been.

"Randall," Gretchen started, not sure how to phrase the question on the tip of her tongue as he neatly replaced the kit in his pack and pulled out a package of...were those baby wipes? - and began cleaning himself up.

"What?" Randall muttered, distractedly.

"Are you obsessive compulsive?"

"I have a mild case," he answered sheepishly, looking up at her, "I forgot how smart you were."

"Ah...classic OCD...you suffer from slight paranoia as well?"

"Yeah...how'd you know that?" Randall continued cleaning his hands and face, offering Gretchen and Mikey wipes which Gretchen accepted but Mikey wasn't in need of one.

"Your preparedness for anything that may, and tonight did, come up was a hint, though I'm far from being a psychologist, the human mind is quite fascinating...I dabble," Gretchen explained. Mikey shrugged.

"I tried to call the police, but the phone line is dead," he told them, not sure what the hell they were talking about.

"You don't happen to carry a cell phone, do you?" Gretchen asked. Randall shook his head.

"No. Not anymore. I had to check it every few seconds to make sure that it hadn't died on me, and then I learned that your exact location could be tracked through satellite through one of those," Randall told them, as though it were nothing big.

"You're a conspiracy theorist as well?" Gretchen questioned.

"No," Randall chuckled stiffly, "It's kind of hard to go about spouting that "they" are plotting evil things when you are "they", don't you think?"

"So it's true, you are a part of the CIA," Mikey spoke up, excited.

"Not exactly," Randall laughed, a little more good-heartedly, "I'm part of a more private...and let's just say secretive sector."

"What sector would that be?" Mikey pressed.

"I'm not at liberty to talk about that," Randall said matter-of-factly, lifting himself off of the ground, "The rain's going to keep us here for some time...hey, who's that?"

Mikey and Gretchen pulled themselves up, squinting their eyes to get a better look at the woman running to them in the distance. She held an umbrella in front of her as a makeshift windbreaker.

"Theresa," Mikey recognized and rushed past Randall and Gretchen into the rain towards her. He was at her side in a moment, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her the last few yards towards the garage. She was soaked and shivering. Randall threw his trench coat around her shoulders.

"Theresa, what are you doing here?" Gretchen demanded, examining the younger woman for any injuries.

"I was...Ashley A....Gus..." she attempted, her jaw chattering. Gretchen laid a hand on Theresa's belly.

"This can't be good for the baby," Gretchen told her.

"What about Ashley A. and Gus?" Mikey asked.

"Gus is at the hospital," Theresa was finally able to manage, "Ashley A. called to tell me. I was trying to get there but the rain..."

"Wait," Randall cried, "Who are you? What's going on? Gus and Ashley A., you're not talking about who I think you're talking about, are you?"

"That's right. Randall doesn't know what's been going on," Gretchen realized, "I guess we should tell you everything. Since, I assume it involves you."

"Why do I feel like I don't want to know this?" Randall moaned.

"Because you don't," Mikey told him, "But you need to. Gretchen, you know all the facts better than I..." Gretchen nodded.

"I think you'd better sit down," she started.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ awoke to find himself in that same room he'd awoken in that very morning. That morning. TJ groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position. That morning seemed so long ago. Hell, just the week before he'd been sleeping beside the love of his life in their New York apartment, and that seemed like an eternity ago...more like an impossible dream considering everything that had happened. He looked about. He was alone. He tried to remember what happened the night before. He'd seen her; the one who'd been tormenting them. He knew who she was...he 't recall where he knew her from...why was she so familiar? Why couldn't he remember? He knew her. Well, duh, she's Mary Anna, TJ told himself, then scoffed. She couldn't possibly be Mary Anna. Mary Anna was dead. Then how come that woman looked so much like Mary Anna? Or was it that she looked like someone else that he couldn't put a name to so he just connected her with Mary Anna?

TJ made his way to the door, tried to open it.

"Locked..." he mumbled. He looked around, trying to take in his surroundings. There was the makeshift bed on the floor, a small dresser drawer table beside it. There was also a platter on top of it with a cup of water and a piece of molded bread. Was that supposed to be his dinner?

Then TJ noticed a curtain, hanging on the far wall. Hoping it covered a window; he ripped the curtain away and stumbled back in surprise. There was no window, just a wall, covered with photos of him. Him as a child, him in his room at home, him at school, him in New York, him in the shower getting ready for dinner with the Spinelli's just the other day. There was writing peeking out from behind the pictures on the wall. He started pulling the pictures off, ripping them down, throwing them to the ground. Words. Sentences scribbled on the wall. Things like "TJ is mine," and "TJ loves me," or just simply hearts inscribed with "TJ." What was most disturbing though were the largest words written in deep red ink. The only sentence that spoke of someone other than TJ himself.

"...must break that pretty doll...must break...doesn't deserve what's mine..."

* * *

END A/N: Yay, Frankie is back and Randall is...well...he's here now. Did you enjoy it? Ooioioi...man, the conclusion is coming soon, I can feel it...well, the climax more like it. It's right in the pit of my stomach, making it's way up...er...bad analogy.

**_REVIEW_**! I should probably make it known that I consider myself a creative genius (I really _am_ modest...hehe...), but we creative types need to constantly be told that our work rocks, or at least have our work acknowledged in some manner. If no one _**REVIEW**_s my fic, then, for some odd reason, I draw up the conclusion that no one read it...or worse, no one liked it and no one likes where my story's going and they hate it. I am not self-concious (can't spell without spellcheck!). I am just needy. And do you know what I need? _**REVIEW**_s. A small blurb to demonstrate that you've read my story is all I need. And I do love and appreciate the _**REVIEW**_s that I recieve, but when I get so few sometimes for certain chapters...maybe it's because I update so quickly...maybe if I let there be more time between my updates...maybe people think I don't need the motivation. But I do. And how much I struggled with this chapter is self-evident of that. Hm...so go _**REVIEW**_. Not for me, but for yourself and your reading pleasure. That is all.

Oh, I also wanted to point out how in the last chapter Gretchen and Mikey made amends so easily because I decided that their characters seemed the most practical. Mikey could have made a whole dramatic scene out of it, but Gretchen probably wouldn't have appreciated that. Nope, not one bit, being the practical girly she is.

hm...I think that's all. THANKS for READING, and please excuse all grammatical and typing errors. Until we meet again.


	17. And They Awake

A/N: Sorry it took a while to get up! I have so much going on and I'm exhausted and all my free time goes into this fanfic or one of my one-shots. Oi. Okay, I have a few things to take care of first. Now, for those of you wondering why I keep referring to the Ashleys with their maiden initials attached to their names even though I've mentioned that some of them are married, well, it's to avoid confusion and because I'm too lazy to make up new last names and initials for them. Hm...and let's see, Randall, a lot of you were shocked with his appearance and saving of Gretchen. Randall has changed a great deal, as have most of the characters as you have all noticed. In actuality, all the characters have changed a lot, some just more subtely than others. Everything will be explained, including the emotions involved in these changes. I think that's all...

Now for the thank-you's.

TheNextPoliticalDynasty: Always the first to review...I love you for it. Hm...I understand how you feel. Between work and school I don't even have a day off. I'm so damn tired!

xXxSarahxXx: I love reading your reviews as short as they are. You're so loyal!

RavenForever: Haven't broken your vow yet, goodie! Yes, hard to believe, but Randall saved the day. We'll be getting a little more into his psyche soon, maybe even in this chapter...you'll have to read to find out, that, and if your conspiracy theory is correct.

Thanks all for your reviews, love ya'.

This one's for you, ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 17: And They Awake

Ashley A. sat at the bedside of her old friend in the hospital. She glanced at her watch and looked back at the book she'd been reading. Theresa should have been there already, or at least could have called. Bruce did have a phone. She looked up as Ashley Q. and Ashley B. made their ways in the door holding bottles of water. Ashley B. handed one to Ashley A.

"There was no mineral water. Can you believe that?" Ashley B. said.

"Yeah, I can't believe I still, like, live in this backwater town," Ashley Q. put in. She looked down at Ashley T. lying in the bed, frowning slightly. "She so needs a make-over right now," Ashley Q. sighed, brushing some of the brown curls from Ashley T.'s face.

"Yeah," Ashley A. agreed, examining the burn scars on the deep brown cheek and hand, "We like, have to totally agree to stick by her, no matter, like, how horrid the scars might make her look."

"Like definitely," Ashley Q. exclaimed as though it were a given and Ashley B. nodded her head vigorously.

"Ashleys forever?" Ashley A. asked.

"Ashleys forever," the other two young women confirmed in unison.

The door to the room slammed open and the nurse Megan stood there frowning at them.

"The storm outside is worsening," Megan told them, "And we've got new patients coming in. I know that your friend requested a private room, but there might be a chance we'll need to stick some of them in here."

"Like, no way," Ashley Q. spat.

"Yeah, no one should be allowed to see Ashley T. in this horrendous moment in her life, I don't care how sick they are," Ashley B. joined in.

"Ashleys, Ashleys," Ashley A. soothed them, "We are like so above this childish behavior. If any patient needs this room, then let them have it. So long as they have no really disgusting diseases or injuries."

"Fine," Ashley Q. sighed.

"If you must, you must," Ashley B. muttered.

"Good," Megan said before turning and leaving.

"You're like, such the giver," Ashley Q. told Ashley A.

"I know," Ashley A. shrugged, "Sophistication does separate the Ashleys from the non-Ashleys, am I right?" Nods of agreement.

Ashley A. sighed, glancing at Ashley T. once more before returning to her book. She was worried. Of course she was worried, knowing everything that had been going on. She looked up at her friends, Ashley B. and Q. who were talking about their lives and what they'd been up to recently. Ashley Q. was talking about her husband and how "sweet" he was, and Ashley B. was talking about her "successful" career as an artist and actress. Now was the time to talk to them, Ashley A. realized.

"Like, what about you Ashley A.?" Ashley Q. asked, turning on the blonde.

"Yeah, we know you're like major glam with your fashion design career, and marrying that Italian hunk...must be great," Ashley B. added, turning to Ashley A. as well.

"Shouldn't we be acting a bit more seriously?" Ashley A. questioned.

"Why?"

"Ashley T. was attacked in her motel room," Ashley A. pointed out, "And we are stuck in this town. Look, I have to talk to you guys about everything that's been happening. Like, Vince, TJ, Gretchen and Mikey all being back in town."

"We know all that," Ashley Q. told her, "Everyone is. They called about some stupid cryptic letters we got, but we were so not interested in meeting them." Ashley A. stared at them dumbfounded. They didn't think it was important in the least?

"Well, Vince was attacked too, like Ashley T., but more directly. I saw it. And Gus, remember Gus? He was missing! Except I just saw them bring him into the hospital, they, like, said he washed in from the lake! And Spinelli..."

"Spinelli's in town too," Ashley B. scoffed, "Jeez, they just let everyone back in don't they?"

"I know, I thought we got rid of that little white trash..." Ashley Q. began.

"There are more important things going on then a little feud between us and that black sheep Ashley!" Ashley A. cried. The two other Ashleys fell silent. "Someone is knocking us off...or trying to! You guys are, like, not taking this as seriously as you should. This...this...psycho bitch could scar all of you just as badly, if not worse, than Ashley T. She could, ruin your hair, muss up your make-up, totally destroy your manicure, and forget about the pedicure...and oh yeah, did I, like mention, you guys could end up _dead_?"

"Sheesh, Ashley A.," Ashley Q. chuckled nervously, "Like, calm down. We...well...it's not _that_ serious. We'll just, like, get out of town."

"I don't believe you two. We _CAN'T_ get out of town," Ashley A. sighed, exasperated, "I'm like, going to take a walk."

"I'll come with you," Ashley B. offered, standing up, "I like, so can't stand this hospital room. It's badly decorated."

"Whatever," Ashley A. sighed, making her way out of the room.

-0-0-0-0-

Francis tapped the steering wheel of his car, straining to see out the windshield and mulling over everything Vince had told him.

"Man," Francis finally said, "Oh man!" He slapped the steering wheel and looked at Vince, who was lying back in his seat rubbing his head, "I knew it! I knew that would bring us nothing but trouble! Jeez, oh man...god! Now some psycho freak...that explains a lot. Poor Ashley...so her and TJ..."

"Broke up?" Vince sighed, "Yup."

"You don't sound too heartbroken," Francis commented.

"Why would I be? TJ went behind my back..."

"You weren't really friends at the time."

"But he knew how I felt!"

"But you didn't know how he felt. You would have ended up doing the same to him."

"He could have told me!"

"And how would you have taken it?"

"I..." Vince sighed, staring at his hands. How would he have taken it? He looked back at Spinelli, laying peacefully, breathing softly. She was pretty, looked so innocent. _I would rather watch her sleep anyways_. TJ must really love Spinelli, Vince told himself, who couldn't?

"I guess I should set the record straight," Francis spoke up, shaking Vince back to reality, "TJ didn't ask Spinelli out."

"What do you mean?" Vince groaned, "He must have or they wouldn't have been together..."

"He didn't. I could tell that something was between them, and I kept thinking that...today will be the day he asks her, it was the same with Ashley," Francis explained, "One day she got so fed up, that she blew up on him and told him what was what. Shocked the hell out of the whole cafeteria. She marched right up to him and told him that he was either taking her out that Saturday night or he'd be taking Madame Fist out Sunday morning. It was quite entertaining."

"But he eventually went out with her," Vince pointed out.

"Though...he did seem to be holding back. Almost like he was struggling with his loyalties," Francis glanced at Vince.

"Yeah right," Vince snorted softly, but fell silent. Was that really how it played out? Had TJ held back because of him? Even though they weren't friends anymore?

"Mmph..." Spinelli groaned from the backseat. Vince turned to look at her. She was stirring, blinking her eyes. "Where am I? Why are we...are we moving?"

"Yeah, Spin," Vince whispered softly.

"TJ...oh god...Teej?" she mumbled, trying to sit up but falling back down weakly. Vince sighed, sitting back in his chair and eyeing her with slight concern and obvious hurt.

"It's alright, Ashley," Francis said from the front seat, "We're going to the hospital, you'll be alright."

"But...TJ?"

"It's okay, Ashley," Francis told her, "I'll take care of you." She was quiet.

"Frankie," she finally spoke up again.

"Yeah, Ashley?"

"Stop the car."

"Why?"

"Cause," Spinelli said, turning to him, "I have to find that guy and FUCKING KILL HIM!"

"Gee, okay, I'll stop the car right now. _Are you crazy_?" Francis cried.

"You know I've never been one to sit back and do nothing," Spinelli sighed, "And I'm not going to sit back and wait for that creep to find me. I'm finding him first and kicking the living shit out of him!"

"Whoa, wait, hold on," Vince spoke up, "What makes you think it's a him? I was most definitely attacked by a woman...or a little girl...least I saw a little girl in the mirror."

"Look, you think I don't know when I'm exchanging swings with a man?" Spinelli demanded, "Guys tend to fight differently. They've got different areas to protect then a woman. I know what you mean, though Vince, I thought I was being held captive by some chic too."

"Speaking of which, I thought you'd be a little traumatized by that experience," Vince said. Spinelli bit her lower lip, looking away.

"Heh, I guess that's our Ashley Spinelli for you. There's nothing a little schoolyard brawl and adrenaline pumping through her veins can't solve," Francis chuckled, "Here's the hospital. Can you walk, Ashley, because I can carry you."

"I'd rather you not do that, Frankie," Spinelli told him, attempting to lift herself again but failing miserably. She covered her mouth with a hand and closed her eyes.

"If you're gonna be sick, don't do it in the car," Francis warned, "I just had it cleaned out." He pulled into the hospital parking garage, and pulled himself out of the car. He made his way to the back and helped Spinelli out, much to her protesting.

Vince seemed to struggle with his own pained body and obvious fatigue, but he pulled himself out of the car and walked into the hospital with definite unease but unshakable pride. He wasn't going to let anyone drag him into the hospital, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone fuss over him when Spinelli was in the condition she was.

It was a bit of a surprise that the moment they entered the hospital they found chaos. Victims of the storm rushed in, people filling the waiting room, most of whom not looking so much injured as just seeming to be seeking a haven from the storm. The hospital was at one of the highest points of the town, if it was flooding outside, it was one of the safest buildings to be in. There were no open chairs, so Francis found himself supporting Spinelli and Vince, which was weighing him down considerably. A nurse came to the counter and looked them over.

"You'll have to wait in the lobby," she finally told them.

"What are you talking about? These two are in serious condition," Francis snapped, "Get 'em a room, somewhere to lay down at least! And a change of clothes would be nice, they're soaked."

"Look, I'm sorry, but we've had an unexpected rush of patients. We have to reserve what few rooms we have for those in the worst condition. There are gowns and spare scrubs being handed out in the lobby, they can change in the restroom, but I can't do anything else for you."

"These two are in bad condition," Francis yelled, "At least those guys in the lobby can hold themselves up! There must be spare cots or something available..."

"Vince?" a perky voice called. Francis turned, as did Vince and Spinelli to see the blonde running up to them followed by the short black woman.

"Ashleys..." Vince started, staring blankly at them. Why were they here again?

"What happened? You look like...well...like," Ashley A. gave up, unable to find a good enough metaphor for how crappy Vince's appearance was. But Ashley B...

"You, like, look worse than purple polka-dots matched with an orange lace skirt!"

"Uh..._what_?" Vince stared blankly at her.

"Look, lady," Spinelli snarled. She was leaning over the front counter, clutching the nurse's collar and glowering at her threateningly, "I need a restroom or a bucket...or something...and then I need a heavy object and a raincoat."

"Uh...is that...Spinelli?" Both Ashleys said in unison, staring in disdain at the saturated, black haired, young woman before them. At the sound of her name, Spinelli rolled her eyes to look at the Ashleys. She looked pale, dried blood trailing down her cheek and a bruise forming on her jaw line.

"I...uh..." Spinelli slipped from the counter, Francis catching her.

"This woman isn't well, can't you see that?" he cried to the nurse.

"Look...I...the doctor..." the nurse started, "I'm only an intern!"

"She can stay in our room, same with him," Ashley A. stepped in, then looking to Spinelli and Vince, "Can you make it?"

"If I weren't sick..." Spinelli started, "I...never accept help from an Ashley..."

"It's alright, Spin," Vince soothed her, then to the Ashleys, "Thanks, we can make it." They stumbled away from the nurse who stood back, not sure if she should protest or not. She chose to get back to dealing with the other patients. Ashley A. led the group back to the room, talking while they walked.

"Who are you?" she asked Francis, who narrowed his eyes at her in a frown.

"I sold you your first lip gloss," he reminded her.

"Oh, who could forget _that_ horrid color?" she squealed, "I can't believe I bought it!"

"Neither could I, it wasn't really lip-gloss," Francis muttered.

"Have you heard any news from the others?" Vince interrupted.

"Yeah, um, apparently Gretchen and Mikey made some sort of progress at the library. I tried calling there, but the phone lines must have been down. Theresa was supposed to be here nearly an hour ago...they found Gus," Ashley A. explained.

"Is he alright?" Spinelli spoke up, though she seemed a little groggy.

"Yeah, he's unconscious still, but the doctors are hopeful from what I hear," Ashley A. answered stopping at Ashley T.'s room door, opening it and letting everyone in. Ashley Q. stood up.

"Like, what's going on?" she asked.

"You remember Vince and Spinelli," Ashley A. stepped forward, "And..." she stared at Francis, "...um...Hustler kid?"

"It's Francis," he corrected, "I don't go by Hustler kid anymore."

"Hi Vince," Ashley Q. greeted pleasantly, then tapering her eyes at the soaked woman, said coldly, "Spinelli."

"I'm looking for someone to kill, Ashley Q., are you volunteering?" Spinelli spat, before turning around and promptly vomiting in the trashcan.

"Ew," the Ashleys all cried.

"What's going on...?" Ashley T. mumbled from the bed.

"Ashley T., your awake," Ashley A. squeaked, as the Ashleys huddled around their friend and all began chatting at once about how the scars weren't really noticeable, and that they even brought out her eyes, and that she looked simply gorgeous in the hospital gown. Spinelli sighed, tearing off her shirt much to the stun of Vince and Francis who watched with shameful blushes and couldn't help but notice how cute her black bra was and how well-toned her body. Boys. She found a hospital gown in one of the dresser drawers and slipped it on.

"What are we gonna do?" she asked, turning to Vince and Francis gapping at her. "Well?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"Spinelli, there's really nothing...well...we don't even know who..." Vince stuttered.

"Jeez, you guys suggesting we just sit around and do shit?" Spinelli spat, "That creep is out there, and has TJ..." She closed her eyes, bracing herself against the hospital bed and trying to gain control over the nausea washing over her body.

"Spinelli, you look like crap, no offense," Vince told her, "You're really not going to do anyone any good. You have to get cleaned up and taken care of."

"You're one to talk, Vince," Spinelli snarled, but found herself sinking to the floor.

"This is twice in the past two days she's been running around in the rain," Vince explained to Francis.

"She's a little emotional right now too," Francis noted.

"And she's still in the room," Spinelli put in, glowering up at them.

"I can see you haven't changed much, Spinelli," Ashley B. said, turning to them, "Vulgar, violent, repugnant, and, the most obvious thing that hasn't changed, no ring on your finger."

"Watch it, Ashley B.," Vince started, standing up to face her.

"Stay out of this, Vince," Spinelli commanded, turning her glare on her tormenter, though a bit half-heartedly as the words did have a ring of truth to them, "So I haven't changed, but neither have you!"  
"Well, who would mess with perfection?" Ashley Q. joined in.

"Yeah, Spin-ugly the Spinster...hey, that sounds pretty good," Ashley B. giggled.

"It's better no marriage, than a bad marriage," Spinelli spat.

"Like, as if you know anything about our marriages," Ashley Q. growled.

"Never said I did, but it sure sounds like I hit a soft spot," Spinelli replied.

"What do you know about marriage at all? You should change your name to Spinster," Ashley B. laughed, staring at her maliciously, "Who would want to marry you? She probably hasn't even been on a date. Nobody wants a tomboy like you."

"Uh, Francis, do you understand what's going on?" Vince whispered.

"No idea. Maybe they think marriage is the next best thing after sliced bread? I'm not married and I think I'm doing great."

"Same here."

"I'm not married 'cause I don't want to be," Spinelli hissed, rubbing her pounding head.

"It's not like you're in the limelight either. When's the last time you heard anything about an Ashley Spinelli?" Ashley B. asked to Ashley Q.

"Nothing since seventh grade when she got dean's detention and all the details were plastered over school," Ashley Q. answered.

"Will you say something?" Vince hissed at Ashley A. She shrugged at him, pretending not to notice the ensuing fight. Francis just stared between the two Ashleys and his sick friend on the floor, wondering how Spinelli would react to what they were saying and if he should step in, or get ready to grab her should she pounce.

"You Ashleys don't know shit about me," Spinelli snarled, "And for your information, I have been on a date, and I been dating the same guy since..." She trailed off. She wasn't dating him anymore. Her face altered, contorting with unreadable emotions. "He broke up with me," she stated, her brow furrowed as though the words didn't make sense. "I feel sick," she muttered, clutching her stomach, "He didn't want me..."

"Spinelli, don't say that, TJ...he's a...he's a real bastard," Vince attempted, sidling up to her side and thinking about putting his arms around her.

"Oooh," the two malignant Ashleys squealed excitedly. Vince turned to them in frustration.

"When are you girls ever going to grow up?" he demanded, "Nothing ever changes with you Ashleys. It's all about who's got what's better and who looks best and who's accomplished more. The world doesn't work that way! Why..."

"Shut up, Vince," Spinelli whispered, "For once, I think they're right." She buried her head, tears trailing down her cheeks, "I mean...aren't they? TJ doesn't want me. He broke up with me; we're over. Why does it get harder and harder every time I say it?"

"Spinelli..."

"Is she okay?" Ashley Q. asked, her tone changed, "I mean, I didn't, like, expect her to cry. I, like, expected her to be, well, like, Spinelli like. I expected her to...well, like, threaten us or something."

"Well, gee, if that's all you wanted..." Frances muttered sarcastically.

"I screwed up, because I couldn't be the girl TJ must have wanted. Because I refused to wear pretty dresses and globs of make-up. And you, Vince, you had to run your big mouth! And Joey! God Joey had to fuck up everything, didn't he?" Spinelli sobbed.

"Big mouth?" Vince mumbled, a little hurt.

"Yeah, your _big_ fucking _mouth_!" Spinelli screamed at him, lifting her head, "And now he's gone and what if...what if I won't be able to tell him how I feel? I always screw up in that department, don't I? Never able to tell anyone how I feel..." She laid her head down again, trying to stop the tears, trying to stop the nausea, trying to stop the headache, trying to stop the blackness slowly washing over her, and trying to stop the floor from coming ever closer.

-0-0-0-0-

Randall looked between the three people staring expectantly at him. He paced, stopped, paced, sighed, glowered, and stopped.

"This is a joke," he finally said, laughing nervously, "Good one, guys...trying to pull one over on ol' Randall."

"No joke," Gretchen told him in all seriousness. Randall's face fell, he paced again.

"The fire," he began.

"Most likely perpetrated by our stalker," Gretchen confirmed, "I believe, though it may have been nothing more than a delusion of my desperate mind, that I heard my victimizer giggling and singing."

"I understand," Randall sighed, "So the time has come for me to pay for my sins. I had expected it sooner."

"You predicted this?" Gretchen gaped.

"Not this, no," Randall scoffed, "But for every crime there is a punishment." Mikey walked over to him, jabbed him in the arm with a stiff finger. "Ow! Hey, what was that for?"

"Just checking to make sure you were real," Mikey explained, "You are most definitely not the same Randall as I remember."

"Well, people change, that doesn't mean you go poking them! Jeez," Randall cried, rubbing his arm viciously.

"Uh oh," Theresa said from the corner she was standing in.

"What's wrong?" Gretchen asked, looking to her.

"Oh, nothing, just contractions..." Theresa explained as casually as she could muster despite the pain twisted across her face, "Really painful ones...a lot of them...oh shit..."

"_Now_ what's wrong?" Randall demanded.

"My water just broke."

-0-0-0-0-

"Theresa..." Gus whispered in his sleep.

"Poor kid," the doctor said, looking the sleeping form over, "Wonder who Theresa is? He keeps calling her name."

"Says here that it's his wife's name," the nurse explained, looking over Gus's chart, "She's a patient here too, with the OBGYN."

"She's pregnant?"

"That's what it says here. She's only got a week or so to go."

"Ugh..." Gus moaned, his eyes slowly opening, "Theresa...I have to...for Theresa..."

"It's alright, kid," the doctor soothed then turning to his assistant, "Get ready for anything." Gus bolted upright, looking about the room in fear, his heart pounding.

"Where..."

"You're safe kid," the doctor told him, "You're in a hospital bed. You're suffering from mild burns, contusions and abrasions, nothing serious. What's the matter?" Gus seemed disoriented, looking about the room wild-eyed.

"I can't see anything," he cried, "And I have to warn them...they have to know what she wants. They have to know what she's willing to do, what's she's done, they have to know what she's planning."

"What who's planning?" the doctor asked in a low and serene voice, motioning for the nurse to ready a tranquilizer.

"Mary Anna, what Mary Anna is planning," Gus told him, "I have to get to them before she does."

"Get the woman who identified him," the doctor told the nurse, "I believe she's in another room with a different patient."

"Right," the nurse said, rushing from the room.

"Alright, Mr. Griswold, we're getting your friend and trying to get a hold of your wife, but the phone lines are dead. Can you tell me what this...Mary Anna? Can you tell me what she's planning?" the doctor said, checking Gus's eyes. He had said he couldn't see, which concerned the doctor. Though the chart did say that he wore glasses with a strong prescription.

"No," Gus whispered, "I can't. I can't...I promised...just...I have to warn them. Because I know, I know what she wants..."

* * *

END A/N: I have to get ready for work...argh...um...alright. This chapter went to things a little quicker than I originally planned, but hopefully you'll get your explanations and the mysterious psycho's identity will be revealed next chapter. In fact, I'm thinking of calling the next chapter Revelations, or something along those lines if you find that enticing. Hehe...oi. Okay, if you're wondering why some of the Ashleys act so immature as though they haven't changed a bit, and some act like...well, Ashley A. for example is acting, well, it will all be revealed. Don't hate them too much now, let me explain what's going in their heads before you judge them too harshly.

Alright, now that you've read, REVIEW! It will help you relieve all that disclosure of emotions you're feeling right now, I guarentee. I know I've been ranting a lot about REVIEWs, but it's my way of venting all my frustration, though not particularly about REVIEWs, partially. SORRY! PLEASE REVIEW.

TTFN, Ta Ta For Now! Thanks for reading, excuse my grammatical and typing errors. God, I hate work, somebody save me.


	18. Revelations

A/N: I have to get to class...I have to get to class...er...I didn't have time to proofread the last bit, but here it is.

THanks to everyone who reviewed, TNPD, RavenForever, and xXxSarahxXx. You all rock.

Dolls, Fires, and Floods, OH MY! ENJOY.

* * *

Chapter 18: Revelations

Randall stared blankly at Theresa for a long time. No one said anything. Theresa was clutching her stomach, breathing heavily, and attempting to remember her Lamaze courses.

"Okay, what does that mean?" Randall questioned, obviously confused, but a little frightful as to what it implied.

"She's in labor!" Gretchen cried from where she half-sat, half-lay on the ground.

"What do we do? What do we do?" Mikey chanted, falling to his knees, "I can't handle this!"  
"Will you calm down? I'm the one that's going to have a baby," Theresa snapped at him.

"Lay her down on the ground," Gretchen commanded; rubbing the bridge of her nose, "I don't know how to perform childbirth...Let me see if I can remember..." she mumbled, her vision blackening.

"Gretchen?" Mikey called to her, "Gretch...don't leave us...you're the only one who can do this." She slumped to the ground, Randall frowning horrified and Mikey by her side at once. Theresa attempted to squat on the ground but couldn't find a way and cried out with pain. Randall came to her aid, helping lay her down as best he could, shooting Gretchen a concerned glance.

"She breathed in a lot of smoke," Randall told Mikey, "We have to get these two to the hospital." Mikey looked between them then out into the storm.

"One of us has to go get help," Mikey determined. He glanced down at Gretchen and then to Theresa. He cared a great deal for both women; he couldn't leave their sides. Randall glanced out into the storm as well, gulping. Theresa grasped his hand, squeezing tightly and screaming in anguish.

"OW!" Randall cried out in pain, "Let go of my hand, let go of my hand!"

"I'm in labor NOW!" Theresa screamed, but released Randall who fell back clutching his wounded limb to his chest.

"I have a bit of training for a situation like this," Randall told Mikey, gasping, "I have a doctorate in medicine, though my specialty isn't birth...but..." Randall gulped, glancing down at Theresa who was "hee - hee - hee - hoo-ing".

"You have a doctorate in medicine?" Mikey repeated, stunned.

"Yeah, why?" Randall asked, sounding slightly hurt that it seemed so shocking to the larger man.

"No reason," Mikey shook his head, "I'll go get help."

"Out in that storm," Theresa whimpered, grabbing his arm, "Mikey don't go. It's too dangerous."

"It's starting to calm down," Mikey reassured her, "I can handle myself. I'm more worried about you, and this baby," Mikey gently touched her stomach, "Gus will want to see his daughter." He leaned forward, kissing Theresa's sweat drenched cheek. "I'll go as fast as I can." He looked to Gretchen, then to Randall. "Take care of them."

"I will," Randall assured him, "Be careful."

"Mikey," Theresa cried, remembering how Bruce was stuck down so brutally, "Please..." He pushed the hair back from her forehead, smiling reassuringly.

"I'll be alright. Someone has to make sure that you, that baby, and Gretchen are okay," Mikey told her before standing and facing the storm, "I'm going." He ran into the wind, covering his face, the storm drenching him immediately. Randall watched silently, respectfully. Theresa's pained cry from the ground brought him back to reality. He knelt beside, her, taking his pack off and placing it behind her head. He wiped the sweat from his own forehead, looking down at her bewildered and sighing. It was going to be a long night.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli awoke to the emptiness of the hospital room. The lights had been shut off and she could hear the soft breathing of someone else in the room. Spinelli pulled herself into a sitting position, looking around. Ashley T. lay in the bed across from her, snoring nasally. To the right of her lay Vince, soundless, his chest rising and falling steadily. Sitting in a chair beside Spinelli was Francis, a newspaper resting atop his chest. He too was asleep. The only person awake in the room was staring at Spinelli with cautious eyes.

"Ashley Q.," Spinelli whispered.

"You should, like, be resting," was the silent reply.

"Where are the other Ashleys?"

"Your friend Gus woke up, they went to see him," Ashley Q. answered, shifting in her chair, "Hospital furniture is, like, so uncomfortable and, like, horribly unfashionable." Spinelli threw back the thin white sheet covering her bare legs. She was wearing one of the hospital gowns; her now only slightly damp clothes were folded on a chair nearby. She blushed, realizing her undergarments were among them.

"Who undressed me?" she demanded.

"Ashley A.," Ashley Q. answered, confused, then understanding Spinelli's embarrassment quickly added, "Don't worry, she like totally kicked the boys out. Though, not that they'd want to watch _you_ get undressed." Spinelli sighed. If only that were true, then maybe she wouldn't be in this mess.

Spinelli slipped out of the bed, rummaging through the folded clothes and feeling Ashley Q. sidle up beside her.

"Like, what are you doing?"

"Getting out of here," Spinelli explained sardonically, though, not that it wasn't obvious. Her lingerie was dry already, but the jeans were still severely soaked and her shirt was still on the damp side. She slipped the panties on first and then looked around the room her eyes falling on Ashley Q. "Gimme your clothes," she told her.

"What? Like, no way," Ashley Q. declined haughtily. Spinelli looked her up and down. She was wearing a powder blue mini-skirt and a short lace white blouse. Not really something Spinelli would wear. She glanced to Francis sleeping silently on the chair. He wasn't wearing the same clothes as before, they were dry for one thing. Loose fitting jeans, a brown vintage style t-shirt. They'd be large on her, and she only ever wore her brothers' or TJ's old clothes. It would feel as though she were breaking some kind of rule. But on the other hand...

"I wonder if he'd notice..." Spinelli mused. If she remembered correctly, Francis _was_ a heavy sleeper.

"Ugh, jeez, Spinelli," Ashley Q. moaned with disgust, "If you're looking for clothes to wear, Francis brought in one of his suitcases. It's sitting over there."

"Huh?" Spinelli glanced at her.

"I mean, like, where did you think he got the change of clothes?" Ashley Q. scoffed, "He wanted to be dry. Vince wouldn't fit in them, he was too tall, but I don't know...you've always had a sort of boyish figure."

Spinelli rolled her eyes. She found the suitcase and tossed it on her abandoned hospital bed, throwing it open. There was another pair of jeans inside as well as a few rolled up t-shirts. She lifted a black one to her nose, sniffed it warily and determined it to be clean. She unrolled the jeans as well, slipping them on. They were baggy, just as she'd figured, and she discarded the hospital gown, buckling her bra back on and slipping on the t-shirt. It too was large on her. She glanced down at it, frowning. The words "Guns and Roses" were printed boldly across the front, with a simple decal design looping and intertwining with the lettering.

"Hell, Frankie," Spinelli muttered, "At least it isn't KISS."

"What? Kiss?" Ashley Q. glanced at her quizzically. Spinelli sighed, holding the pants up with one hand and shuffling to the door. She glanced around the floor.

"Where are my shoes?" Spinelli demanded.

"Where are you going?" Ashley Q. retorted.

"To find TJ," Spinelli replied snidely, "And that asshole that attacked Vince and me."

"Francis said you might try this," Ashley Q. sighed, "Ashley A. promised that we wouldn't let you leave."

"Are _you_ going to stop me?" Spinelli questioned threateningly.

"No," Ashley Q. replied unhesitant and received an odd look from Spinelli, "I didn't promise him," she explained, "But I think I should go with you."

"You'll only slow me down, now where are my shoes?" Spinelli said, as a wave of drowsiness flowed over her. She gripped the door for support.

"_I'll_ slow _you_ down?" Ashley Q. snorted.

"Fine," Spinelli hissed, "You can come if you want. _Now, where are my shoes_?"

"They're over there, on the other side of the bed. I'll get them," Ashley Q. sighed, crossing the room and picking up the black tennis shoes. She handed them over and waited for Spinelli to slip them on. Then they made they're way out of the room, walking down the hall.

"When did Gus wake up?" Spinelli asked.

"Oh, a little while ago," Ashley Q. answered, "You were really dating TJ Dettwieler?"  
"Why?" Spinelli spat, glowering at her.

"It's just...well...he's not horrible looking, that's why," Ashley Q. shrugged.

"Ashley Q.?"

"What?"

"Do you have a...well...a crush on TJ?"

"Shut up."

"You started the conversation." They were silent.

"Is he a good kisser?"

Spinelli stopped, clutching the wall, nausea swimming across her eyes. Something was wrong. She laid her head against the cool plaster of the hospital wall, closing her eyes, trying to focus. She'd never felt so sick before. The last time she'd felt so seriously ill, TJ was beside her the entire time, waiting on her hand and foot despite her protests. He refused to let her walk anywhere, carrying her through their apartment, though he could barely lift her. She was all muscle and he...well; he wasn't the strongest man in the world. Spinelli smiled. She loved how sweet he could be. _We're not right for each other_. Her eyes snapped open. She hated what a jerk he could be.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" a masculine voice questioned her. She saw Ashley Q. smile at the speaker and swoon slightly. Why did that voice sound familiar? She turned, leaning against the wall, her eyes rolling onto the intruder.

"Jocko?" she questioned, eyes narrowing in confusion. Why was he here? She should know this one...

"Ashley," he greeted, grinning, and slipping his well-muscled arms about her waist, "You look...well...not your usual beautiful self, but you sure are a good sight to see."

"_Ashley_?" Ashley Q. hissed in question.

"Shut up," Spinelli hissed back, and then smiling to Jocko, "What are you doing here?"

"Refuge and this," he pointed to a small cut on his forehead that was carefully cleaned. He smiled down at her, "And you?"  
"I'm being held against my will by pain in the ass friends," she replied, "And this bitch," Spinelli motioned to Ashley Q. who shot her an indignant glare. Jocko glanced at her then turned his attention back to Spinelli.

"And your lum...er...boyfriend?" Spinelli lowered her eyes. "What's wrong?" Jocko asked, though not sounding too genuinely concerned.

"They broke up," Ashley Q. spoke up, determined to be a part of the conversation.

"Oh," Jocko sighed, feigning heartbreak while trying to mask his obvious joy at the news, "Did you finally realize that he wasn't good enough for you? Really, Ashley, you shouldn't be so sad about losing such a lump of a man. You can have any guy you want, and yet you stay beside him. I didn't quite understand it, but..." Spinelli's eyes flared.

"What did you say?" she demanded.

"Uh...which part? Him being a lump of a man or the part that you could have any man you wanted?" She shook her head.

"The part where you said he wasn't good enough for me," Spinelli scowled.

"Oh, well, I don't claim to understand your relationship, but I doubted you could love someone as pathetic as..."

"Jocko," Spinelli sneered, "You don't know shit about me or about TJ. I loved him. I still love him."

"Why?" Jocko demanded, "Explain it to me. You could have any man. Hun...you could even possibly have me. He's small, tiny, unkempt..."

"Yes, he is, and I love him," Spinelli told him, her voice quavering on the edge of a shout, "I love him for all of those things and for everything that he is! He is everything to me, and you can never understand it! I love him because he's not some muscle head jerk from the gym, not cause he can kick any guy's ass, because he can't and he wouldn't, because that's not how TJ is. I love him because he's soft and warm and because he knows what to say to make me laugh, because he gets me. He knows everything about me and he loves everything about me."

"A messy haired, freckle-faced..." Jocko tried to reason. He had the look of someone who'd never been rejected before or even thought it was possible.

"I love his messy hair and every single one of his freckles, all 46! Yes, I counted! I've counted several times. And I love that he's not perfect and that he's not strong. I love that he gets this crazy look in his eyes sometimes and I almost imagine that he's going to be the same TJ Dettwieler that I met in kindergarten and led me on so many crazy adventures! And I love that when he smiles, it's kind of a crooked grin and you can almost see that he's planning something. And I love that he's stubborn and sometimes acts like a wimp, because he knows when to fight for what he believes in and when to stand up for himself. And I will always love him..." Spinelli screamed, seeming only slightly crazy, "Because I love him! And you know what," she sighed, her voice faltering, lowering in tone, calm and steady, "He's not a lump. He's the man I love. You're the lump." She turned from Jocko, shakily making her way down the hall again, Ashley Q. following, glancing back every so often a little confused at what had just transpired. Jocko seemed stunned a moment then finally found his voice.

"It's a pity that they canceled the tournament," he finally called after her, "It would have been interesting to see which of us would have won." Spinelli paused, sighing. They'd canceled the tournament, the reason she'd had to come back to that godforsaken town. The very reason she'd had to go back and face her past wasn't going to happen anymore. She continued. Whelp, time to make someone pay dearly, she told herself, pushing forward.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the nurse whose nametag read Megan called to Spinelli from behind the counter, "You can't leave. The whole place, outside, it's like, flooded. Only emergency vehicle personal can leave the building."

"I have things to do," Spinelli said, glowering in the nurse's direction. Megan raised an eyebrow at her, studying the determined young woman wearing oversized men's clothes.

"I think I had dance lessons with you," she said bemused, staring at Spinelli with a casual observer's eye, "Yeah, I think we did."

"Great," Spinelli told her, "Now if you don't mind, I'm leaving." Spinelli made her way to the front door when it burst open, a large recognizable young man bursting in, followed by men dressed in uniforms for the National Guard.

"I need help," he cried, "At the library, there are people...my friends..."

"Mikey?" Spinelli called. He looked to her.

"Oh, the wondrous powers of the world must be on our side today," Mikey cried, "Dear sweet child, Spinelli, is that you?"

"Oh brother," Ashley Q. muttered, "Is that Blumberg."  
"Ashley Q.," Mikey greeted, thrusting his arms around both young women, who struggled against his soaked form.

"You said you needed help?" A paramedic stepped forward.

"Yes," Mikey shouted, remembering his purpose and looking about wildly, "At the library...I had to leave them behind. To get help. My friend, Gretchen, the library was on fire, and she breathed in the poisonous black vapors...and Randall - well, he's actually fine. But Theresa! Oh, dear Theresa is on the brink of childbirth..."

"Randall?" Spinelli questioned, then shaking her head, "Who's Theresa?"

"Theresa Griswold," Mikey explained, "Gus's wife whom we formerly knew as Cornchip Girl."

"Theresa LaMaize-Griswold?" One of the national guards questioned, perking up at the name.

"Yes," Mikey confirmed, sighing dramatically, "Oh, I weep for their safety!"

"You heard the man, boys," the guard said, his voice taking a commanding tone, "Officer Theresa LaMaize-Griswold is in danger and in the midst of labor. Ready the rafts, we're on a rescue mission for one of the best damn officers ever to serve our government."

"But I thought she was in the navy," Mikey mumbled in confusion.

"Says a lot about how good she was if other military branches are talking about her," Spinelli put in, clutching the front counter, she looked to Mikey, "Theresa LaMaize-_Griswold_?"

"_Yes_, Gus's wife," Mikey repeated exasperated, "I'm riding with you," he called after the uniformed men who rushed from the hospital. He turned to Spinelli, giving her a once over, "What happened?"

"TJ's gone," she explained.

"Gone?"

"Taken."

"Oh, that's not good," Mikey scrunched his nose.

"What?" both the women asked in unison.

"We found a tie to the old boathouse...but the lake probably flooded...what if...what if that's where TJ is?"

"I'm getting out of here," Spinelli said determinedly, making her way out the door.

"Ride with us," Mikey told her, "We'll stop at the boathouse." Spinelli nodded.

"The storm is dying down," Megan called after them, "That's what it says on the radio."

"I'll go tell them where you're going," Ashley Q. volunteered, already heading back to the room. Spinelli smirked at her retreating form. She had probably been hoping Spinelli would back out of the idea of rushing out into the storm all along.

"Let's go," Mikey said. He and Spinelli pushed to the outside following the officers to where they were inflating the life raft.

-0-0-0-0-

Gus lay in the bed staring at the ceiling; he'd been sitting with Ashley A. for nearly ten minutes and he couldn't think of what to say. His mind kept wandering to his love, his life, his Theresa.

"Gus, what happened?" Ashley A. attempted to get his attention again. He looked like hell, frankly put. There was a burn mark across his cheek, and, as well, he was covered in scars and bruises. His eyes, the doctor had said, seemed dilated. That was why he couldn't see anything. With or without glasses, he was blind. The Doctor, however, couldn't determine why he was blind or how long it would last, or even if it was temporary at all.

"I can't..." he mumbled.

"Gus, it's just you and me. Ashley B. is waiting outside. I know everything that's been going on," Ashley A. pressed, "Please, tell me what happened. There's a reason I'm here, right, to listen to what you have to say and pass it on to everyone else?"

"No..."

"Gus, please tell me." He squirmed in the bed, assuming an almost child-like position, pouting.

"Can't..."

"Gus, listen to me. Theresa, your wife, she's fine and worried about you. TJ is gone, taken. And everyone else..."

"TJ..." Gus interrupted, "She took TJ."

"_Who_? _Who_ took TJ?" Ashley A. demanded, sitting up in her chair.

"_She_ did..."

"Mary Anna?"

"No...not Mary Anna. The doll, the broken doll," Gus's voice broke into a sob, "But the doll...it's broken. It's dead. Not a doll anymore. She's not the doll anymore."

"What?" Ashley A.'s brow furrowed in confusion, "You're not making any sense. Gus, calm down, try and explain it to me again."

"She wants him. She wants...she'll do anything to get what she wants," Gus whimpered.

"What does she want? Who's him? Who does she want?"

"She wants suffering. She wants to break...the doll?" Gus closed his eyes, his face creasing with concentration as he tried to sort through everything, "She wants to be...she wants _him_!"  
"Who is _him_?" Ashley A. cried out in frustration.

"TJ."

"She wants TJ? Why?"

"Because...he didn't break the doll," Gus reasoned, saying the words as though they made perfect sense. Ashley A. massaged her temples, sighing. Why wasn't he making any sense?

"Gus, what about the letters? What about the notes?" Ashley A. demanded.

"It's all a game," he whispered, "They are _nothing_. Words within words."

"Will you stop speaking in riddles and make some damn sense!" Ashley A. cried in disgust. If someone else were here, they probably could make him sense of everything he was saying. Gretchen could, right? But no one else was there. It was her and him and she had to figure out the puzzle.

"Do you know how to swim?" he asked suddenly. She raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, why?"

"It won't save you. It won't save me. There are some fires that water can't put out," Gus turned his head from her so that she couldn't read his emotions.

"Save us from what?" she dared to ask.

"The fire," he stated as though it should have been clear from his ramblings.

"The doctor said that you'd told him you knew what she was planning, that you knew what she wanted," Ashley A. pushed on, trying to regain control of the conversation, "What is she planning?"

"She plans nothing," he replied simply, "She just re-ignites the fires. They've been burning all along."

"What?"

"She wants to save him, save him from himself, save him from us," Gus went on, dampening his lips with an errant lick, "But who'll save him from the fire? Who'll save us from the fire? Oh god," Gus's voice broke into horrible screams and cries, "Theresa! I need to...for Theresa!"

"Gus, stop it!" Ashley A. commanded him futilely, "Please, stop it!" Tears formed in her own eyes, trailing down her cheeks, "Please..."

"The fires won't stop burning," Gus moaned, "She wants me to see but I can't see!"

"Tell me who she is, tell me what she wants!" Ashley A. begged.

"TJ knows. He knows who she is, he knows what she wants," Gus blubbered, "He's known all along." And then, the lights went out.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ slumped to the bed, staring blankly at the wall. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He closed his eyes but the image stayed as though inscribed on the back of his lids. He opened his eyes again, narrowing his eyes at one picture in particular. He lifted himself up. It was one of Spinelli. The only one that seemed to just be of her. He took the picture with trembling fingers. Spinelli was standing in the bathroom of their New York apartment. She wasn't wearing a shirt, was reaching for something, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth, toothpaste trailing down her chin. But that wasn't what caught his attention. It was the mirror, in front of her, that reflected what was behind her. A face, someone holding a camera. TJ felt his breathing come in sharply. The memories seemed to flood back to him.

The school. TJ had stood face to face with her at the school, but something had happened. Someone had hit him from behind. He rubbed the back of his head, recalling the pain, feeling the bump that it had left. Even going back to that morning, the night before. Looking up, he'd seen her. She'd stood over him, smiling down, clutching a purse, her hair falling into her face. She took his arm, helped him up, led him to the boathouse. She'd kissed his lips as he had struggled to figure out who she was. She'd said those things to him. _I can be her if you want, I can be better than her_. Going so far back as to those brown eyes that he'd seen before, that simple figure. Hands brushing in a simple exchange, eyes meeting, smile flashing. Skin touching skin and the smell of ashen burning. A doll. A perfect, beautiful, haunting doll.

Giggling. TJ had heard giggling. A childish smile. Why hadn't he seen it before? He closed his eyes. A doll. It had been there, right in front of him, the whole time. He'd known all along. He stepped forward, heard a small splash, and looked down to his feet. The floor was wet. Why was the floor wet? TJ strained his ears. There was the sound of thrashing outside. He knew that sound. Storming, it was storming. He was at the boathouse. His eyes widened in realization. Flooding. The lake was flooding and he was right next to it. TJ made his way to the door, pounding on it, jiggling the handle. It wouldn't budge. He leaned against the door, clutching the picture of Spinelli in his hand. "I'm sorry," he said to the picture, "I screwed everything up. I'm so...so very sorry."

The lake had flooded before, TJ recalled. They'd had to empty out the boathouse. It too had flooded.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, closing his eyes, burying his face. The boathouse was flooding fast now, and TJ had to stand up. The water was already up to his waist. He lifted the picture up, studied it, and studied the woman he already knew so well. He hadn't been able to tell her what he'd done. Her brother would do it; he would gladly step forward to do it. TJ couldn't have her mourning a lie. He heard the sound of something pounding against the roof of the boathouse. TJ looked up to the ceiling trying to hold his footing in the rising water. There was a vent up near the ceiling. How'd he miss that? TJ pushed his way through the water to the other side of the room, running into something floating. A dead bird?

TJ felt along the crevice between the wall and the vent cover. He'd had a great deal of experience with vents when he was a child, so he could feel with his fingers where to pull and prod until the vent popped off. He stepped back as a small stream of water trickled down, probably having gathered from the rain. He examined the hole. Too small.

TJ fell back into the water, crestfallen. It was his last hope and he was too large. If he'd still been a ten-year-old boy...well, he probably wouldn't have gotten himself in that mess in the first place. He'd been so much more resilient as a child. The water was up to his chest now and all of hope seemed to be washing away with the rising flood. He heard the roof creak again, closed his eyes and saw the splintering. He had fast reactions, shielding his face with his arms, ducking slightly into the water. The entire roof collapsed in on him, a wood beam slamming into his head, sharp wood chips berated down atop him, imbedding in his arms and any other exposed flesh. He sunk into the water, dizziness overcoming him, and what was once clear liquid suddenly filled with red puffs of blood. He forced his head above the water again, Polaroid pictures floating about him, and clutched the side of the boathouse to hold himself still. Blood poured into his eyes, and he ran the back of his arm across them, and grimaced. He could feel a gash across his forehead were the crimson red oozed out. He felt sick. The roof was gone now and water began pouring in from where the ceiling had once been, bucketing in like a waterfall, or raining down on top of him from the sky.

TJ concentrated on staying at the surface of the water, trying to float to the top and out the new opening in the ceiling. He felt the strength of the current pulling at him, something sharp slam into him from beneath the water, pulling him under. The only thought in his mind as he sank beneath the current and was ripped from the boathouse was Spinelli.

* * *

END A/N: Okay. I have to go. So I hoped you liked this chapter. Um...yup...hehe...lot's of cryptic-ness. Did anyone get what Gus was trying to say, cause I didn't.

THANKS for reading. Please **_REVIEW_** and please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

See ya.


	19. And The Clouds Disperse

A/N: Right. It didn't take me that long, did it? Hm...there's some things I have to take care of. Okay...uh...oh yes, the Guns and Roses & KISS T-shirts...those jokes are for me, and you can laugh at them too if you want. I didn't mean anything by the "at least it isn't a kiss shirt", I love KISS, as much as a non-rabid fan can. Yes..."I want to rock and roll all night, and party every day!" heh...I probably just lost all the people reading this story that were classic rock fans sitting with their KISS make-up and Gene Simmons shirts on...I don't think anyone like that is reading my story...hehe...alright, and things are getting weirder. I'm starting to lose faith that I have any idea as to what I'm writing. I just...it feels as though I'm taken over, my body is possessed, and I sit for hours at a time writting in a heated passion and when I'm finished I sit back, read over it and say, 'I wrote this crap?'...no, I'm joking. I think I'm getting on peoples' nerves constantly insisting that my writing is crap. I'm just not easy to please. Um...okay...

Thanks to those who reviewed.

TNPD: I noticed you updated your own story, kudos! Late for class again?

xXxSarahxXx: Okay, breathe. Yes, TJ got out of the boathouse, but is that really safer? And...I noticed someone hasn't read the sequel to One Night Stand yet...unless you didn't sign your review...

RavenForever: You get to find out if you were right. Isn't it exciting. Well, not really. Things are gonna get a lot weirder and a great deal more confusing.

DarkAngelGaudianLight (yay, first time reviewer!): Very interesting theory...very interesting. I can't tell you if it's correct, though I did write a story like that once during my Edgar Allen Poe stage...

goofymonkeychild(yay, she's back! for how long though...): Sorry about all that cryptic-ness...hehe...I didn't really expect anyone to understand it yet...I mean, hell, I don't even understand it yet...er...I mean....yes, I do...shifty eyes...I should have known you'd catch all that symbolism.

So many reviewers last chapter...makes me soooo happy!

Oh, yeah. I'm not sure if they'd call in the National Guard for, even such a large scale disaster, but it made sense in my head when I wrote the last chapter. Yup.

More cryptic-ness! YAY. ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 19: And the Clouds Disperse 

Ashley Q. sat up in the chair she'd staked her claim on before the lights went out; her heart was fluttering in her chest. She tried to stumble across the room to reach the light switch, thinking that maybe, somehow, if she flicked the switch the lights would return. She stumbled over a discarded suitcase, tripped off course, and fell on top of a very soft and unhappy form.

"Oof," Francis cried out, "Jeez...get off me!"

"Sorry," Ashley Q. mumbled, stepping back, only to trip over something else. She stood wind milling before Francis grabbed her, holding her steady.

"What happened to the lights?" he demanded.

"They just...like, went out," Ashley Q. explained, gripping tightly to him.

"Okay. Is everyone okay?" he asked. She nodded.

"Yeah. Vince and Ashley T. are still sleeping, and Spinelli left with..."

"What? She left? I thought you were gonna keep her here," Francis cried.

"Well...I mean. She went with Mikey, I thought it would be okay." Francis's eyes trailed to the chair.

"Her clothes are still here. Please tell me she's not running around naked," his tone suggested to Ashley Q. that he wouldn't put it past Spinelli to pull such a stunt.

"No, she stole some of your clothes. Some black shirt that said something about roses and a gun..."

"She took my Guns and Roses shirt? Out in that storm? Damn..."

"At least it's not a kiss shirt..." Ashley Q. attempted, smiling wryly and not quite sure what the hell she was talking about. Francis just gave her an odd look and shrugged it off, making his way to the door slowly and carefully so as not to trip. He jiggled the knob.

"Why's it locked?" he asked, turning to look at Ashley Q., though neither could see the other.

"It's locked?"  
"That _would_ be why I can't open it."

"Why are you getting angry at me?"

"I don't know! You were supposed to be watching things!"

"Do these...do these doors even lock?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"I don't know! It's a hospital, why would the patient doors lock! You're the one..."

"Shhh..." Francis interrupted, clamping a hand over her mouth, "Did you hear that?" They strained their ears, listening. Something...something metallic? It sounded as though it were dragging against the wall. Whatever it was, it was in the room with them. Ashley Q. pulled from Francis's grasp.

"Who's there?" she whispered into the darkness. No answer.

"Ashley Q..." a whisper came beside her ear. She jumped, giving a little squeal, Francis chuckling beside her. She slapped his arm.

"Don't do that," she hissed at him.

"Jeez, it's just us in here," he told her, still laughing, "I'm gonna go wake Vince up."

Ashley Q. shook her head, watching as Francis's chuckling figure stumbled its way over to Vince. She didn't have time to call out to him when she saw the other figure move through the darkness, but she screamed quite loudly when she watched some foreign object plunge into Francis's side. She saw Vince sit up halfway, shaken to wakefulness and give a muffled cry as the dark figure lunged an attack at him. He was fast enough to block, his reactions coming back to him after the short rest. He knocked the attacker's weapon from his or her hand and threw the attacker back a few steps. The door behind Ashley Q. slammed open and she gave a startled cry turning from the scene before her to the nurse who had just walked in holding a flashlight and two unlit candles. Ashley Q. spun around again hoping to catch a glance at the attacker, but no one was there. Vince was clutching his head and Francis knelt to the floor, clutching his side as a growing dark spot seeped through his shirt.

"Is everything...alright in here?" the nurse asked, looking from Ashley Q. gaping at her, to Vince lying on the bed disoriented, to Francis bleeding on the floor. Ashley T. was gone.

"Someone was in here," Ashley Q. cried, "And this door was locked."

"You must be mistaken," the nurse told her, trying to calm her down, "These doors don't lock, and this is the only exit. I didn't see anyone leave this room." The nurse narrowed her eyes at Francis. There was a discarded knife beside him covered in blood, "He needs medical attention. Not one of you leaves this room." The nurse set up the candles, lighting them, then left in search of the doctor while Ashley Q. and Vince helped set Francis in a chair.

"Does it hurt?" Ashley Q. asked, not sure if her concern was correctly placed.

"What do you think?" Francis snapped, he looked to Vince, "She let Spinelli leave."

"Spinelli's gone?" Vince asked.

"So's Ashley T., I don't see either of you worried about her," Ashley Q. hissed, "At least we know where Spinelli went. She left with Mikey."

"What? Mikey? Where is he?" Vince questioned, "He was here? What did he say?" Ashley Q. rolled her eyes. _Now_ they wanted to know the information she had? _Men_.

"He said something about...mm...the library being on fire and Gretchen being in it..." Vince's eyes went wide.

"What? Gretchen's in a fire!"

"No...wait, that's wrong. The library _was_ on fire; it's not anymore. Um...Gretchen breathed in...something poisonous?"

"What? What did she breathe in?" Vince demanded, exasperated. People he once cared about deeply were in trouble and he had to rely on an _Ashley_ to decipher the message!

"Black vapor...?"

"Must mean smoke," Francis put in, grimacing from the chair. He didn't appear to be too badly cut, just a slice in his side, no actual puncturing, but it was deep and the bleeding didn't look as though it would stop anytime soon.

"Yeah, that must be it," Ashley Q. nodded, hoping she was getting back on his good side, "And...something about Gus's wife."

"Theresa," Vince nodded knowingly, "Is she alright?"

"He said...I think he meant that she was giving birth."

"Theresa's in labor!" Vince cried in shock, "Oh man..."

"And Randall!" Ashley Q. cried.

"Randall?" Both men said in unison.

"Mikey said he was fine. You don't think he meant Randall...um...that little snitch, right?"

"So is that it?" Vince asked her.

"Yeah...I think so..."

"Good, I don't think I can handle anymore..."

"No wait, there was something about TJ," Ashley Q. broke in. Vince looked away. TJ. He'd abandoned him to that psycho. Albeit, TJ had told him to, but still...it wasn't the first time he'd left TJ that way. Why did he feel so guilty? They weren't friends. He _hates_ TJ! Right? Right.

"What? What was there about TJ?" Francis pressed, the anticipation driving him crazy.

"Um...Mikey mentioned the boathouse, and said there was a chance TJ was there," she explained.

"The boathouse?" Vince choked out, "In this rain...the boathouse would be..."

"Long since gone?" Francis filled in the blank for him, staring blankly. Vince fell slightly to his knees overcome with grief.

"You don't think..." he mumbled.

"Dettwieler can handle himself," Francis whispered reassuringly, "He'll be fine."

"But if he dies..." Vince choked out, "He'll die with us hating each other..."

"What does that matter?" Ashley Q. prodded.

"I don't know...somehow...it just seems important now and every little petty thing that drove us apart seems so...so...miniscule," Vince whispered, "I never thought that there'd be a possibility...him gone..."

"He's not gone," Francis snapped, "Stop saying that!" He turned to Ashley Q., there was a more pressing matter to deal with, "When the lights turned off, Ashley T. was here?"

"Yeah, of course," Ashley Q. nodded.

"Then we can only assume that she's now in the clutches of our stalker," Francis surmised, looking to the bed Ashley T. had rested upon. He narrowed his eyes at it causing Ashley Q. and Vince to turn as well. Red. Red stains. Ashley Q. lifted herself up, walking to the bed. She pulled back the sheet and promptly screamed. Birds. Dead birds. Mutilated, battered, feathers broken, pooling blood soaking through the prim white sheets, dribbling on the floor.

"Oh my god," Ashley Q. breathed. Trembling fingers lowered to the bed, lifting a small Polaroid snapshot. "Ashley T.," she whispered. Vince was at her side, taking the picture from her fingers carefully, he stared at it briefly, handed it over to Francis with a shudder of disgust. Francis looked it over. It was a picture of a porcelain doll, stained with mud and dirt, face bashed in. She had messy brown curls; some singed, and was wearing a green outfit not unlike the one Ashley T. had worn often as a child at Third Street Elementary. Ashley Q. swooned and Vince and Francis dove for her. Francis found himself kneeling painfully on the ground again and Vince was clutching the limp young woman's form. Both men sighed with relief.

"What do you think this means?" Francis asked.

"I don't know," Vince shrugged, "It could mean anything."

"Or nothing at all," came a whisper at the door. Both men looked up. Ashley A. stood there with the doctor; his hand lay gently on her shoulder. She was frowning at Vince. "Like, what are you doing with Ashley Q.?" she asked. Vince blushed, laying the unconscious brunette to the ground gently and backing away. The doctor crossed over to Francis to tend to his wounds and Ashley A. slipped over next to Vince and Ashley Q.

"How's Gus?" Vince whispered to her.

"Not good," she replied, "Physically and _mentally_. Ashley B.'s with him along with a nurse. I had to come here to tell you guys what he said."

"We've got more important things to deal with," Vince told her, eyeing the bed and reaching a hand over to pull the sheets back over the dead birds. They didn't need questions from the doctor at that moment.

"Oh no," Ashley A. assured him, "You _need_ to hear this."

"It's nothing serious, you'll be fine. Now how did you do this?" they heard the doctor saying to Francis.

"I tripped when the lights went out," was the explanation.

"Alright. I'm going to have a look at your friend over there, the pretty young woman," the doctor told him, patting Francis's shoulder and sidling up to Ashley Q.'s side. After a moment, he stood again, "I'll go fetch some smelling salts."

"That's alright," Ashley A. told him, "She, like, totally hates those things. She wouldn't want you to. She'll wake up soon, so long as she didn't, like, bump her head or anything, she's fine. She does this all the time."

"All the time?" the doctor raised an eyebrow, "She may have a serious medical condition."

"I'll take care of her," Ashley A. pressed on, "You have other patients to tend to." The doctor was skeptical but finally gave in, leaving the room with an odd glance to the empty bed Ashley T. had once occupied. As though on cue, Ashley Q. shifted to wakefulness.

"What happened?" she asked groggily, "Ashley A., what are you doing here?"

"I have news. It's about what Gus had to say, you all have to know this..." Ashley A. looked between the three staring at her expectantly. She did like being the center of attention, but this was a serious matter and they would have questions that she couldn't answer. Oh well, she sighed, time to relay exactly what Gus had told her.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ gasped for air, fighting to pull his head above the floodwater. It was thick with dirt, and the current was strong, pulling him away from the boathouse. He couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet, but that was to be expected. He was near the lake, the lowest point in town. No matter his strength, or even any swimming ability he might have had, he was nothing more than a rag doll helpless against the tug of the water. It pulled him in whatever direction it went and it was futile to fight it. He felt himself slam against the leafiness of a tree, cradled against the trunk, pulled under the water again. In the murky dark of the under water, he couldn't even hope to see. He felt something slam against him, knocking the air from his lungs as well as a great deal of deep red blood puffing from his mouth into the water, a great red puff of smoke. He was pinned, struggling with the sharp metal that held him hostage beneath the surface of the raging flood.

The battle was useless. TJ weakly tugged at the large object, he assumed was a lawnmower or some other small vehicle. It wouldn't budge. He closed his eyes. _Teej_. Spinelli. He had to get out of this for her. TJ shook his head. No. It was probably better this way. If he died now then he wouldn't cause her any more pain. His lungs were burning for air, his mouth opened, gulping in the dirty water. It wasn't what his throat thirsted for. He could still feel that woman's lips against his own. That moment of drunken passion still burned against his skin. It still disgusted him, the idea of being with anyone other than Spinelli.

Spinelli. TJ had never even imagined what love could have been without Spinelli there. He recalled their first kiss behind the dumpsters at Third Street Elementary. He'd been just a young boy, but there was something special about it even then, that his first kiss was with his best friend, soon to be realized as the love of his life, the woman he had seen an entire future, a family, a lifetime with. But that was gone now, those dreams, those fanciful fantasies; they were fading. They weren't as clear, as truthful, as possible as they had once been. Things weren't supposed to go this way. He remembered his first time with her. Touching gently, exploring, tenderly searching the depths of one another. They were just children. But something had overcome them that night, this knowledge, that they were soul mates, made for one another. They completed one another in a way that no one else ever could. That it was just...right.

If I die, TJ prayed silently, not certain any greater being would listen to him, I want her to be okay. I want her to...I want her to find someone better for her...I want her to know the truth about me. I want her to know what I've done; maybe...maybe...it'll make things easier on her. And I want her to know...that I love her...that I'll always love her...

TJ felt as though he were ready to burst. It was unbearable. Darkness was filling his eyes. He gasped for breath, for the sweet taste of air, but only found the musty taste of sullied lake water. He forced his fading mind to think of Spinelli, of everything about her, of every moment he'd had with her. It was over...he could feel that it was over...

-0-0-0-0-

Mikey braced himself against the wind and torrents of rain. He glanced at Spinelli, huddled in the corner of the raft, a windbreaker wrapped tightly about her small frame. There were three other men in the boat. Two officers of the National Guard, and a paramedic. They were well equipped as well, with a radio and medical supplies. The paramedic's nametag read Phil. He kept glancing at Mikey curiously.

"This is where the boathouse should be," one of the officers called over to Mikey, "It's probably underneath all the water. I wouldn't worry about it though, this isn't the first flood it's been in."

"It's not the boathouse I'm worried about," Mikey muttered, looking to Spinelli. She'd stood up on her knees, was scanning the water top for...for something...anything.

"There's no one around here, the Rescue Squad reported that they'd already been by," the other officer called, sitting near the radio, "We have to get moving to the library."

"No," Spinelli commanded, shielding her face from the wind and dipping her hand in the water, retrieving something floating on the surface. A small soaked piece of paper; from the size, most likely a snapshot. She stared at it for a moment.

"What is that?" Mikey asked, not certain she'd heard him through the roaring wind. She held it up for him to see. It was a blurred picture, ruined by the saturation, but most definitely of TJ.

"We have to get moving," the officer said. Spinelli stared out, narrowing her eyes, transfixed on something in the distance. They were moving again.

"He's out there," Spinelli cried, "I know he is." The officer stopped, looked at her with biting concern, then to Mikey.

"There's no one in sight," the officer tried to tell her.

"No," she told him, focusing on one spot beneath the water, "Turn this damn boat around."

"We can't, there's a woman in labor right now," the officer attempted, "We can't turn back because of one woman's 'intuition'."

"This isn't intuition," she snapped at the officer, turning her glare on him, "It's my heart. He's fading...and if you won't turn this damn raft around then I'm getting off..." She stood up and, shaking the entire raft and tossing her shoes and jacket aside, dove into the water before anyone could even form a protest. Mikey was over to the side fastest, staring over the edge into the murky water. He saw Spinelli's head poke up to the surface a few feet away, and she began swimming purposefully in one direction. Luckily for her the current was on her side.

"Turn the boat around," the officer yelled at his friend, "She'll drown out there."

"Wait," Mikey commanded them. He saw Spinelli, as though she had reached her destination, go under the water, return to the surface, go under again, return to the surface, and one final time dive under. When she returned to the surface, she held a form in her arms, and was struggling to stay above the water.

"She's got someone!" one of the officers cried, turning the boat in Spinelli's direction.

"Oh dear sweet..." Mikey mumbled.

"She always like this?" one of the officer's chuckled to Mikey, "'Cause I think I'm in love."

"That's the last thing she needs right now," Mikey told the officer in all seriousness, "Someone else in love with her." They towed the limp form into the boat first and then Spinelli.

"You could have drowned out there," the officer told her, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"He's not breathing," Phil told them, already beside the cold form. TJ was soaked, bleeding, and unmoving. He was pale, and sickly gray. Phil bent beside him, beginning to administer CPR, leaning TJ's head back. Spinelli stood by a moment, watching as Phil pumped TJ's chest, counting beneath his breath.

"No..." she whispered. Phil continued, but TJ wasn't reacting. "No," she whispered again, "Please..." she moved forward and Mikey grabbed her, the officers blocking her path, "TJ!" she cried, "I need to..." she begged, struggling against the three men, watching as Phil shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "TJ! He has to be okay...he has to be," she cried, burying herself in Mikey's arms and chest.

"He's gone," the officer told Phil, who continued with the CPR.

"No," Phil cried ecstatically, pulling away from the officer's touch, "Don't you know who this is?" Phil demanded, bewildered, wild-eyed, tears streaming down his cheeks, "This is TJ, TJ Dettwieler. He's not dead. He can't die..." He continued on, trying to control himself from pounding on the young man's chest, muttering "one...two..."

Mikey closed his eyes, feeling his heart sink. The rain was stopping, nothing more than a light sprinkle now, and the wind was dying down. The only sound he could hear was that of Phil's counting and Spinelli's soft sobbing. All hope was gone. The faithful leader was gone.

"Look, kid. He's dea..." Mikey's eyes snapped open.

"Shut up!" Mikey cried, "Shut up! Don't mar his name; don't sully his memory by saying those words. You never knew him, you don't know him. You can't speak of him..."

"Umph..." Coughing, someone was coughing, and sputtering and gurgling.

"Mikey..." Spinelli whispered, "Shut up, you big lummox."

"...ung...gug...Spin..."

"Teej," Spinelli murmured, pulling away from Mikey and falling to the sputtering young man lying at the bottom of the raft. Phil fell back, smiling with relief.

"He has returned to us!" Mikey exclaimed, "The sun shines down on us today! No other but our TJ could escape the chilling touch of death! Take that, Grim Reaper!"

"...Spinelli..." TJ mumbled.

"I'm right here, Teej," she whispered, bent by his side.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, and passed out.

"TJ?" she cried, clutching his shoulders, "TJ?"

"It's okay," Phil came beside her, "Don't move him. We have to keep him still, we've no way of knowing what's going on inside of his body. He could have broken bones, internal bleeding, things that could be worsened if we don't keep him as still as possible." Spinelli nodded, leaning back and carefully brushing back the hair plastered to TJ's forehead.

Phil began bandaging the gash and tending to the other tiny injuries that he could see while the officers urged the boat onward.

"The library's just over that way," Mikey directed. And just as he had said, the hill came into sight. They had to drag TJ along in the raft, as the other's walked on the dry land up the rest of the way to the library.

"This is the worst storm we've seen in...heck...three years," one of the officers chuckled, "I wonder what the death toll is at," he beamed down at the young man in the raft, "At least this boy isn't another number."

"Phil," Mikey finally able to place the young paramedic with the curly red hair, "We went to Third Street together. You were in the Woodchuck Scouts." Phil nodded.

"Yeah, I practically lived in my uniform. My son'll have nothing to do with them though...disappointing, huh?"

They found Bruce's dead body halfway to the library, impaled with a sharp sheet of steel as far as the officers could tell. They dragged the body somewhere dry and safe and radioed it in, then continued on their way. Mikey led them to the back of the library, which was half burned from the fire.

"The librarian is dead as well," Mikey informed the officers, but he divulged no more information on the death, shooting a worrisome glance Spinelli's way as an explanation to his silence. She walked solemnly beside the unconscious TJ, watching him intently. When they turned towards the covered parking garage, Mikey broke into a run followed by Phil and one of the officers, the other one busy dragging TJ carefully.

"Theresa!" Mikey called, racing into the parking area. He searched around, the other's catching up. He saw Gretchen, laid out more elegantly on the ground, her head resting on what appeared to be a sweater or some sort of scarf. Randall sat on the curb wearily, staring sedately at the ground. He was wearing undershirt now, his nice black shirt missing, and was covered in glistening sweat. There were some discarded baby wipes in a pile beside him. He looked up, tiredly at the incoming people.

"Where is she, son?" the officer spoke up. Randall shook his head.

"Theresa...is she okay?" Mikey demanded, "Are they okay?" His voice strained with anxiousness and fear. "Randall!" He heard the squeal of a child and Randall glanced over dully to the other side of the garage, a car was parked there, the window broken.

"I think it belonged to the librarian. She's sleeping," Randall explained, "Theresa that is...the kid won't shut up. If you need the time of birth now, I have it written down. I think Gretchen's going to be all right too, I checked her vitals a moment ago. What took you so long?" Mikey sighed with relief, a grin spreading across his face as he ran to the car and flung the door open. Theresa was laid in the backseat, Randall's coat laid over her, and the baby in her arms wrapped in Randall's shirt.

"Randall..." Mikey struggled to find the words, "This is a miracle! Two miracles in one day! Randall, you are a hero."

"I am not," Randall muttered.

"But you are," Mikey pushed, "Look at everything! Safe. Theresa and her baby are safe...and Gretchen. Because of you, you're a hero."

"Shut up!" Randall snapped, "I'm not a hero." Everyone looked at him in stun, silence. He buried his head in his hands, muttering under his breath, "I'm not a hero...not a hero..." Phil rushed forward, first to Theresa and the baby, giving them a once over.

"Everything looks fine here," Phil told the officers, before moving towards Gretchen.

"I think we'd better call in a chopper," one of the officers said.

"Yeah," Phil nodded, examining Gretchen, "I want to rush this woman in. We have to flush out her lungs. You said she breathed in the smoke, right?" He looked to Mikey who nodded, "Alright. Do you know if she has asthma, or any other breathing maladies?"

"Not that I know of...at least...I don't think so," Mikey mumbled, "Is she going to be alright."

"I wouldn't worry," Phil told him, with a quick and weary smile, "Yet."

"What about TJ?" Spinelli spoke up. She'd been silent since the young man had been revived, and the men had almost forgotten she was there.

"Ah..." Phil shrugged, eyeing the officer that was radioing for helicopter support.

"TJ? As in...Dettwieler?" Randall questioned.

"Do you _all_ know one another?" the other officer asked. Randall narrowed his eyes at the sullen young woman. Dark hair, darker eyes, pale skin, and notable fists that he'd experienced the pain of many times.

"Spinelli?" She glowered at him.

"Worm..." she muttered, kneeling beside the raft, afraid to touch TJ, her fingers hovering, trembling, just above his skin. The officer picked himself off the ground, finishing with the radio; he looked over to all of them.

"It shouldn't be more than ten minutes," he announced.

"That long?" Phil spoke up.

"Yeah, apparently they're having some sort of electrical problems at the hospital," he explained, shrugging, "Like, a blackout or something. They're getting it figured out though."

"Mmph..." TJ groaned, "Spinelli..."

"I'm here, Teej," she whispered, tracing a finger along his jaw line. She imagined they both looked like hell.

"...Clara..." he whispered, and Spinelli had to strain to hear him, bending down mere centimeters from his lips, "..._Clara_...I'm sorry..." he was silent.

* * *

END A/N: Okay. Clara? Who is this Clara? What does she have to do with things and why is TJ saying _her_ name in his delirium? Questions, so many questions. I know what you're thinking RavenForever, either "yes! I got it", or "damn, I didn't..." the last one goes the same for you DarkAngelGaudianLight..., but keep in mind, the story is far from over and it's a little soon to be revealing everything, don't you think? I have a hunch that even if you get it, you'll never fully get it....er...what I mean is, that you'll never completely guess who the psycho is.

Now I bet you're all wondering where Ashley T. is, so am I. I have no idea how she slipped out of there from under my radar. Damn guinnea pigs. I don't think she was supposed to go anywhere...oi...this story is getting out of control...is it just me or are the characters getting a little used to their friends dissapearing.

Oh! And PHIL! Yes, another cameo appearance from another character in the Recess series. The way I figure it, I'm setting it up as a small town deal. Not everyone left the town behind so they're bound to run into people from Third Street Elementary, or just from their past, that aren't directly involved with the pact and everything going on. Mm-hmm...um...

And RANDALL! I'm falling in love with Randall. Ew...actually, I'm quite fond of his character. He's sooo....um...he's such a little worm, and his character is Oh, and just for you TNPD, I'm thinking of giving HK a love interest, I'm falling for his character as well. I know, I have a lot to say.

_**PLeaSE REVIEW**_! **_REVIEW_**s make the world go round. Well...actually, that has more to do with gravity and physics and stuff I don't understand 'cause I barely passed physics (would have failed completely if it wasn't for my crush forcing me to copy his homework. (do you think that's a sign that he liked me...I mean...he charged everyone else to copy...) err...um...

THanks for reading, go and REVIEW! I know you wanna....and, uh...please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. You guys rock.

Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again.


	20. From Hell and Back But Never Safe

A/N: Oh shit...oh shit...oh shit...I have to go to work...oh shit...real quick...

THANKS TO MY REVIEWERS: xXxSarah, Momo-chan (missed ya), TNPD, and RavenForever(don't ruin it for others). Oh, and mischeif-maker, new reviewer. I can't believe you are reading and reviewing it all right now, but when you reach this chapter, thanks!

Well...chapter 20...I've been writing for a month and I'm on chapter 20...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 20: From Hell and Back But Never Safe

Francis sat back in the chair, and Vince was hovering over him. Both eyed Ashley A. with curiosity. Neither was making sense of the things she was saying. Fires, broken dolls, swimming...none of it seemed coherent. Ashley Q. rest with her back against a bed watching Ashley A. with mild interest. Her gaze kept shifting to the blood stained sheets and the picture that Francis was holding. Ashley A. finally finished, turning from them and sighing.

"I don't understand any of it," she told them, "And he just...he stopped talking after that."

"He said nothing else?" Francis pressed. Ashley A. shook her head. "Great."

"What did he mean, that TJ knew who it was? That TJ had known all along?" Vince questioned, speaking up for the first time since Ashley A. had arrived in the room. Francis had been full of questions, but Vince just stood by taking in the things Ashley A. had to say.

"I don't know," Ashley A. shrugged, "But you'd think TJ would have told us if he knew what was going on."

"Do you think Ashley T. is dead?" Ashley Q. whispered, her eyes focused on one particular bloodstain, a piece of feather stuck to the sheet with the sticky red gunk. Some of it had dried already, a sickly purplish black. Everyone fell silent for a moment. "I mean," Ashley Q. went on, "That's what the picture suggests."

"We can't assume anything," Francis assured her, and then muttering under his breath, "I'm surprised you're not crying about getting bloodstains on your blouse."

"What if Ashley T. is dead?" Ashley Q. continued, "She, like, has a family. Her husband...her son...who'll tell them what happened? How would we explain it to them?"

"Ashley T. is not dead, Ashley Q. Stop talking like that," Ashley A. snapped.

"What if she is?" Ashley Q. croaked, "What if...what if...we all die?"

"We're not going to die," Francis sighed.

"Really? Says the man that was nearly stabbed to death!" Ashley Q. cried, "None of us are safe. Gus said so himself. Nothing can save us! We can't be saved. We'll all fall victim to this...this..." She buried her head muttering, "This is Spinelli's fault."

"How's this Spinelli's fault?" Vince demanded. Ashley Q. looked up at him pathetically, tears streaming down her face, smearing her make-up.

"She was supposed to act like Spinelli...not some little girl...if she'd have acted like Spinelli...if she'd of acted the way she was supposed to...if you'd all acted the way you were supposed to..." Ashley Q. trailed off, closing her eyes, "None of this would be happening."

"She's lost it," Vince stated simply.

"Have I?" Ashley Q. screamed, turning on him, "None of this ever happened when we were ourselves! Everything has to be the way it was...everything..." Ashley A. came up beside her friend, slipping an arm over her shoulders, whispering in her ear, hushing her.

"It's all right...everything is all right..."

"Nothings all right...nothings right..." Ashley Q. sobbed, burying her face in Ashley A.'s shoulder. Francis looked to Vince.

"Part of me thinks she's just doing that to make me feel bad," he said. Vince smirked slightly, sadly. The door to the room slammed open and Ashley B. stood there looking around the room. Her hair was a mess, matted to her head with sweat. She was covered in scars and cuts.

"It's Gus," she said, "The ceiling...it , and there's a fire! He's still in the room..."

-0-0-0-0-

It didn't take long for the helicopter to arrive, and in mere moments, everyone at the library was loaded in and ready to go to the hospital. There were three more paramedics in the copter, and Phil started talking with them immediately. Spinelli could see two body bags in the corner, gently laid out, and in the shape of a man and a woman. She stared at that for a long time. When Theresa had awoken she'd told them the first man was Ashley A.'s driver, Bruce, and they already knew the second body belonged to the librarian. She glanced to the other side of the copter, across from her, where TJ lay. He seemed so small, so fragile, almost made of glass. There were machines hooked up to him, monitoring his vitals and doing a number of other jobs that Spinelli knew nothing about. She was afraid to go near him. Everything had seemed to fade when he was in danger, everything that had happened, him breaking up with her, their fighting. But now, now it all rushed back to her and she couldn't stand the overwhelming emotions that came with being near him.

Spinelli looked over to Theresa, holding the baby in her arms, smiling every so often at the paramedics telling her that the baby was beautiful. She looked beautiful herself, her forehead drenched in sweat, her hair limp, her face glowing. She was so tired and so full of life. She'd given the world this tiny perfect creation. Theresa beamed over at Randall every now and then relaying the story of how he'd taken over things so brilliantly, and taken care of her. She commented that he'd have been a great doctor. Spinelli noted how Randall seemed to fold miserably inside himself at these praises, but she didn't want to say anything. Randall had changed in ways that Spinelli wasn't sure she was ready to deal with at the moment. She turned her gaze to Mikey who sat by her side.

Mikey was himself again, it seemed. He was caring and loving and full of poetic energy. He grinned at everything in the world, cherished every moment, and called those around him "friend" again. It was hard to believe that just the very other day he was hardened by a traumatic event that scarred his childhood, hard to imagine that he was once dead to the wonders of the world. Now he cried for joy at small happenings, sang praises to the beauty of life, and nourished the waning positive atmosphere in the helicopter.

Gretchen looked worse for wear. She had woken up when the paramedics were moving her. Now on the helicopter they were flushing her lungs. She held a plastic mask to her face, breathing into it and staring blankly in Spinelli's direction. Spinelli hadn't noticed the changes that had come over Gretchen in the years of their separation. Her hair was short, tied back, and still red. She had short bangs that were pressed to her forehead from sweat. Her hair itself was stringy with grease and smoke. She had a smudge of ash on her cheek, which was still covered in freckles. She'd grown taller, lanky, but her body hadn't filled out. She was still thin but no longer awkward. Her eyes were fixated on Spinelli, which didn't make the smaller woman feel very comfortable. Those eyes were harsh and cold, unfeeling it seemed, like a predator that had just found its prey.

"Who's Clara?" Gretchen finally asked. Spinelli looked away, towards TJ. She'd told them all what he'd said, she'd had to. Everyone's attention seemed to be on her now.

"I don't know," Spinelli shrugged, her voice a slight whisper, sad and melancholy, "I've never heard the name before."

"Maybe she's TJ's girlfriend," Randall joked silently. Spinelli shot him a look of death. Randall gulped, realizing what that look meant, "Oh...never mind."

"You're arguably the closest person to TJ," Gretchen started.

"Arguably?" Spinelli interjected, sounding slightly peeved. Gretchen shrugged, looking away.

"Maybe this Clara is closer..." Spinelli narrowed her eyes at Gretchen.

"Tell me something, Grundler. Do you honestly think that since we're adults, I'm above pummeling you into nothing more than a bloody pile of mush?"  
"I honestly don't think of _you _as an adult," Gretchen snarled.

"What's with them?" Randall asked fretfully to Mikey. Mikey smiled sadly.

"Their friendship's bonds have broken, they suffer from loath that..."

"Can it, Mikey," Spinelli snapped, "I don't suffer from anything except having to deal with that bitch over there. Gretchen, you don't know shit about TJ and my relationship..."

"Might I put in, you're no longer existing relationship," Gretchen interrupted.

"You bitch," Spinelli spat, making a move towards Gretchen with clenched fists. Mikey grabbed her arms though, holding her in place. Gretchen didn't flinch, just staring dully at Spinelli.

"Hey," Phil interrupted, "Will you two stop it! I don't know what the heck is up with the both of you, and frankly, I don't care. We have two injured parties on this chopper, which includes you Gretchen, and two in questionable condition. If you don't mind, I'd like to get to the hospital in one piece."

"Whatever," Spinelli muttered, falling back and eyeing Gretchen angrily, "Just tell that bitch to mind her mouth, and her own damn business."

"Um..." Phil looked to Gretchen, "You heard her..."

"So long as you tell the feral beast over there to keep her volatile PMSing to a minimum," Gretchen spat.

"Uh..." Phil looked to Spinelli.

"Yeah, well why don't you tell Grundler to shove it up her..."

"...mm...Spin..." Spinelli fell silent, looking to TJ and chewing her lower lip. She turned her back to everyone, burying her face.

"Dammit, Teej..." she whispered, "Why are you doing this to me?"

"He's lost a lot of blood," Phil explained to them, "And I'm worried about the possibility of hypothermia...that and pneumonia. Who knows how long he was in the water. And I don't doubt he has a concussion." Those words seemed to remind Spinelli of her own condition. She leaned heavily against the side of the helicopter, pressing the cold of the metal into her skin, overcome with a wave of nausea, she was slipping. Mikey glanced at her with concern, catching her before she fell to the floor. He raised an eyebrow.

"Spinelli, you're burning up," he said, "You're really sick."

"I'm fine," she mumbled. Phil came to her side, took her temperature quickly.

"He's right, Spinelli, you shouldn't even be up. Your temperature is at 102," Phil told her, and then looking to Mikey, "Lay her down."

"Maybe a certain stubborn person shouldn't have spent the past day running around in the rain," Gretchen muttered, but the crack in her voice betrayed her feelings of worry.

"I said I'm fine!" Spinelli snapped, but she couldn't find the energy to protest as Mikey forced her to lay down.

"What were you thinking? You knew you were sick," Mikey accused.

"I know...it's just..." she glanced at TJ, "What does it matter?" she whispered, "I've got nothing..."

"Spinelli, TJ loves you," Mikey assured her, "I know. He loves you more than anything and he has been beating himself up ever since..."

"Yeah, he loves me a great deal," she shot back, "And he's been showing it real well since we got here. I especially loved the part where he broke up with me and accused me of cheating..." She gripped her head. It was pounding in her skull, so painful.

"Don't get her too excited," Phil cautioned, "She needs to calm down, to rest."

"We're landing," the pilot called back to his passengers, "Hey, it looks like there's a fire." Mikey rushed to the front with the pilot, looking out at the hospital below them. It was true. There appeared to be thick black smoke rising from the hospital. Beneath the cloud of ash, Mikey could see small spikes of orange and red. It didn't appear to be a large fire, and rescue workers were already fighting the flames.

"I hope everyone's alright..." Mikey murmured.

-0-0-0-0-

Vince was the first one to the fire, followed by Ashley A., then Ashley B. and then Ashley Q. helping Francis, who didn't look too happy with that situation. Of course, as Ashley Q. had reminded him minutes earlier, he could have been left behind all together what with the condition he was in. Firefighters were already there; putting the flames out, but the fire was still burning, licking up the sides of the walls, scorching the floor, and heating the air.

"Gus!" Vince cried, throwing an arm up to shield his eyes from the intense temperature, "Gus! Oh god...Gus!" There seemed no hope.

"Gus!" Ashley A. cried by Vince's side.

"Where is he?" Francis called, out of breath.

"I don't know," Vince mumbled, "I don't know. I can't find him...he's nowhere."

"Vince," the voice was meager, small, and so quiet. Vince spun around, his eyes falling on the helpless form, crumpled against the once white wall. Broken. Like a formless rag doll he seemed, spread out across the floor, scorched and burned, battered and bruised. Vince walked over, slowly, falling on his knees beside the young man.

"Gus?"

"I'm looking..." Gus whispered, "Looking...for...for something?"

"It's okay, Gus," Vince told him, patting his shoulder gently, "I'll help you find it."

"Thanks..."

"Oh my god," Ashley A. whispered, "Ashley T."

Vince turned to look at the blonde woman, then followed to where she was pointing. As the flames were extinguished the form became more visible. The young woman, brunette curls falling about green clad shoulders, became more vivid. She was dressed in different clothes, what appeared mock-ups of her childhood wardrobe. Her hair was carefully curled, each one held in its place, neatly and tenderly folded. She seemed out of place, so clean and untouched in the wreckage the flames had caused. Vince's eyes trailed down. Down to the ground that Ashley T. was sitting upon, down to the pool of blood beneath her. Ashley A. rushed forward, dodging the firefighters that attempted to grab her, followed by Ashley B. and Ashley Q., who were each stopped before they too could reach the broken form of their good friend. Ashley A. bent, tears streaming down her cheeks, touching Ashley T.'s face softly. Her hand fell on a piece of paper lying on Ashley T.'s lap. She lifted it, her bottom lip trembling as she read what it said. Her eyes lit up, her face livid with anger. Shakily, she lifted herself up, spinning about the room, looking all around.

"If she's not what you wanted, than what do you want? What the hell do you want from us?" she screamed to no one in particular. The firefighters ignored her for the most part, only four pairs of eyes followed the blonde woman.

"Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darlin' Clementine," Gus began singing, his voice silent, just above a hushed whisper, shaking, cracking, "You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine..." He stopped, licking his dried lips, cracked and bloody. "Broken doll," he chuckled, as though it were all a joke, "Wrong one." Ashley B. turned on him.

"What do you know about this?" she demanded, "Why? Why did this happen? Why are they doing this? _Who's_ doing this?"  
"No," Gus said simply. Ashley B. came down on him, grabbing his collar, shaking him violently.

"What does it mean? Why won't you answer me?"

"Ashley B.," Vince spoke up, grabbing her shoulders, stopping her, "Let him go. He doesn't know what he's saying."

Nurses and hospital staff was running about now, what with the fire put out. They brought in gurneys, and some stopped to take Gus and Ashley T. away on the rolling beds. There were only a few patients caught in the fire, though no one could explain how the fire was started or Ashley T.'s presence in that area. They left behind Vince, Francis, and the three Ashleys, staring blankly at the chaos around them. Vince came up to Ashley A.'s side and took the piece of paper from her shaking hands.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"What?" Francis asked, perking to attention and turning to the taller man, "Sorry for what?"

"That's what it say," Vince explained, "It says 'I'm sorry I broke the wrong doll'."

"Gus said..." Ashley Q. murmured, "He knows something."

"He just doesn't know what that is," Francis chuckled morbidly.

"That's not funny," Ashley Q. snapped at him. Francis shook his head, walking away from the mess. Vince looked back to the room.

"A helicopter's coming in with some more patients," he overheard one of the nurses saying, "From the library. There are five patients and two bodies for the morgue." Five patients, Vince wondered, and two bodies. He didn't like the sounds of that.

"Mikey's back," he announced to the others. They just glanced at him and moved out of the burned hallway. They were on their ways to the front of the hospital; no one needed to say anything to decide that.

Mikey was the first to come in, rushing beside a gurney pushing a young man.

"I don't think he's allergic to any medications," Mikey was saying, "He broke his collarbone when he was in the fourth grade, is that important? I don't know if he's taking any medication..."

"TJ?" Vince muttered, catching sight of the unconscious figure.

"He isn't," came a voice from behind them, answering the question for Mikey. A young woman, the owner of the voice, followed after them more slowly and unsteadily, fighting against paramedics pushing a gurney and insisting she lay on it. Two more young women followed, Gretchen on foot and Theresa clutching a small bundle on another gurney. Then a young man walked in seeming uncertain as to where to go or what to do. So he stopped watching as the new arrivals were pushed down another hallway.

"Randall," Francis identified the young man and, with Vince following, approached him. Randall looked at them bewildered.

"What?" he demanded.

"Where are they taking them?" Vince asked, looking after the retreating paramedics and his friends.

"TJ's going to the ER, Spinelli's going to somewhere she can shower, then get drugged up, Gretchen's going with her, and Theresa's headed for the maternity ward with her daughter," he explained, then, almost as an afterthought, "It's been a long time."

"For some of us, not long enough," Vince muttered, "I'm going to see..." he looked torn a moment, confused, "Spinelli," he finally said.

"Well, I'm going to see TJ," Francis shrugged, already guessing what was eating at the other man, "I'm difinately sure they won't let you in while Spinelli's cleaning up, but you could always come with me."

"Fine, whatever," Vince followed Francis.

"We're going to find out what happened with Gus and Ashley T., meet us back here in a half-hour?" Ashley A. called after them.

"Yeah," Francis nodded.

Randall watched them all leave, then crossed to the lobby taking a seat. He slumped into the cushion, staring blankly at his hands. Forgotten. He was finally forgotten.

"Thank god," he breathed. He stared at those hands, amazed. He'd guided a child from its mother's womb with those hands that night. He'd helped bring life into the world. Randall sunk his face into those hands. What was one compared to the so many he'd used them to take?

-0-0-0-0-

It seemed as though hours passed before Spinelli was able to slip from her hospital room down the hall to where she knew TJ was being held. She knew, because Mikey had come in to tell her. She could see him through the thick glass, it was all that separated her from him and it seemed like miles. He was hooked up to several more machines, beeping and humming and doing god knew what. He was breathing softly, his chest rising and falling. She touched the glass pane gently, her hand pressed against the smooth window. They'd bandaged him up, taken their x-rays and ran their tests. Now he was there, lying in that bed, unmoving.

"Ashley?" she heard a whisper behind her. She turned. Francis was sitting in a chair, shifting slightly, and looking up at her. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, but she was lying. Francis couldn't tell, but TJ would have called her on it in a minute. She smirked at that thought, sniffling slightly. She felt woozy still.

"He woke up," Francis informed her, nodding toward the glass, "Asked for you."

"Is he alright?"

"Broken ribs, mild concussion...don't give me that look," Francis raised an eyebrow at her, she looked overwhelmed with grief, "He could be worse. Hell, from what Mikey tells me, he could be dead."

"Don't remind me," she groaned.

"Ashley...go in, go see him," Francis urged her.

"I can't," she muttered, falling into the seat beside him, "I just...I can't."

"Why?" Francis asked. He sounded tired.

"He broke up with me, Frankie. How can I go in there and see him feeling this way? Why is he doing this to me?"

"I don't know. I don't think he's doing it to hurt you."

"Then why?"

"Look...I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what he's thinking, what was going through his head when he broke up with you." Francis sighed, slipping an arm over her shoulders, "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. Maybe...whatever there is to be said, Dettwieler can say it better than anyone."

"You have any idea how momentous this is?" Spinelli asked, looking her friend in the eyes, "_You_ have nothing to say. You _always_ have something to say." Francis smiled, somewhat sadly.

"Sorry, I guess I'm not on my game today," he mumbled, brushing the hair from her face. She looked away, staring blankly at her shoes. They were silent a long time. Finally, Francis leaned back laying his head against the wall, chuckling.

"What?" Spinelli asked curiously, "What's so funny?"

"You know you messed up my favorite shirt right?" he told her, still laughing slightly.

"Sorry," she muttered, "I needed something to wear."

"I guess it looked better on you anyways," he snickered, "I've never really had a girl wearing my clothes before." She shrugged, glancing up at the window. "Bet you always wear Dettwieler's clothes now."

"Yeah," she smiled, "He jokes that he should just buy me the same stuff he gets so I don't have to steal his stuff but...that's not why I wear 'em..."

"Why is it?" Francis asked, glancing at her. She looked...sweet.

"You'll laugh, Frankie. It's too girly."

"Yeah, I probably will," he grinned at her, "But is that so bad?" She shook her head.

"I guess not if it's you," she replied.

"Then tell me."

"They smell like him," she mumbled, blushing, "It I wasn't with him...they'd remind me of him." She looked at Francis expectantly. "You're not gonna laugh?" He seemed quiet, a bit stunned.

"No," he told her, shifting in his chair, "My clothes smell like me?"

"Yeah, but they were more sort of a necessity..." Spinelli started, but trailed off, covering her mouth, "I mean...well, they reminded me of you. There for me...you know." She looked away again, both silent. "Sorry," she said.

"For what?"

"For choosing TJ." Francis glanced at her, sighing.

"You love him," he said, "It was what you wanted."

"But I know it wasn't what you wanted. I'm sorry," Spinelli bit her lower lip, chewing it thoughtfully.

"I wanted you to be happy, Ashley," Francis reassured her, "It hurt...yeah, but I knew that Dettwieler was the only one who could make you as happy as I wanted you to be. I admit, I had the biggest crush on you back then, but...you know, I'm not going to be taking Vince's kamikaze path. I like to think I'm smarter then that, getting myself in a situation where the only way out is heartbreak."

"Vince," Spinelli snorted, "Can you believe him?"

"Yes, I can," Francis told her honestly, "He cares about you, a lot. I don't think he loves you to the extreme that he thinks he does, but everybody's so emotional right now. Everything seems so much more at stake."

"Then you understand, right, that Vince and TJ's relationship...that it's my fault?" Spinelli pressed, "They were the best of friends. He used to wake me up, TJ that is; in the middle of the night...he'd be sitting alone in the corner staring at nothing. He never made any friends in New York, not one. He had acquaintances, sure, but no one he could laugh and talk with. He wouldn't talk to me about it...but I knew, that it was Vince. For the longest time I hated Vince for that, for what he'd done to TJ, turning on him, treating him like dirt. But in truth, it was all my fault. I should have hated myself all along, not Vince."

"Ashley, Vince had no way of knowing back then that you and TJ had hooked up," Francis attempted to soothe her.

"No...he did..." Spinelli choked, "Back then...before...Vince called me. He wanted me to hang out...or something...I told him I couldn't. I told him I was going out with TJ. He was so mad...I didn't understand why then, but the very idea that I was going to be anywhere near TJ seemed to make him so angry. He hung up on me, I didn't even have time to explain..." She broke into a desperate sob, "I'm sorry..."

"Look at me," Francis commanded her, lifting her face gently, "It's not your fault, Ashley. They made their own damn decisions. The only thing you're guilty of is falling in love and following your own heart. The problem with Vince was he didn't seem to realize that you are capable of controlling what happens in your own life. And you do so quite...how should I say this...forcefully?"

"Was?" Spinelli questioned.

"I think ol' Frankie is starting to get through to him with the uh...hustler charm," Francis grinned at her, kissing her forehead, "Anything else troubling you?"

"Yeah," Spinelli smiled, "What hustler charm?"

"Shut up," Francis frowned at her mock hurt. She glanced at the window again, though from her angle could undoubtedly see nothing. Francis frowned, patting her hand gently and standing, "Go see him, Ashley." She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I thought we discussed this," she said.

"Well I guess I didn't catch the 'no' in that conversation," Francis told her, looking away down the hall, "He needs you right now, Ashley," she opened her mouth to protest, "Spinelli," he snapped, turning determinedly to her, "Get in there and face him. Unless you're a coward. You nearly lost him today and it would have killed you, knowing you hadn't talked things out with him, but you were given a second chance. See, door, second chance? Get your ass in there, and tell him how much you love him, now!" He grabbed her, pulling her towards the door.

"Frankie..." she mumbled. He stopped and they met eyes; hers filled with confused rage and his... unreadable.

"Go," he whispered softly, "Before it's gone. Before you lose that chance. I did once and I keep regretting it." She reached forward, touched the doorknob gently and pushed the door open. It was so light, but her arms felt so weak and the door seemed so heavy. She didn't glance back as she slipped into the room and shut the door quietly behind her. Francis stared at that door for a long time.

"Does she know?" a voice whispered behind him. He spun, Ashley Q. standing before him. He hadn't realized she'd snuck up on them.

"Know what?" he demanded.

"How much you love her." Francis was silent. His chest hurt, and he was struggling with tears...his eyes had been dry just five seconds ago. He turned away.

"I have a few calls to make," he spat, before marching away. Why did it always feel as though she was ripping his heart out? Why couldn't he be selfish just once? Why was he always giving her away? Why was he always giving her to him? Francis smiled slightly, desolately. Because he did love her. He loved her just enough to know he couldn't have her.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli stared at the motionless form for a long time. He seemed so helpless there, and so beautiful. He was unconscious, resting; there was nothing she could do. What did Francis hope to accomplish shoving her in there? She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, she could almost hear it. Her breath came in sharp, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Why was she crying? Why was she always crying? Ever since they'd arrived back in town she'd been crying. It was because of TJ. He kept making her cry. She clutched her stomach, staring dizzily at the young man she knew so well, and it seemed not at all. She'd always felt so connected to him, but now, staring down at him, she felt as though she couldn't even touch him.

"Why, Teej?" she whispered, so quietly she couldn't even hear herself. "Why are you doing this?" It was no use. Why was she even there? She turned, making her way for the door to leave.

"Spin..." She turned. He was looking at her through half-opened eyes, watching her movements.

"Hey..." she struggled to say. It came as nothing more than a choked sob. He laid back, his eyes staring up at the ceiling.

"I thought I was dead," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper, then added softly, "Maybe I should be."

"Don't say that," Spinelli mumbled.

"I wouldn't hurt you..."

"If you died?" Spinelli stepped forward, touching the foot of the hospital bed. He was avoiding her, not wanting to meet her eyes. Something was wrong; something was eating at him.

"You know...you know I don't mean to hurt you," he went on, "We have to talk...I have...a lot to tell you...I just...can't."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"Then don't."

"I have to. I have to tell you," TJ closed his eyes, tears escaping, "I just want you to know...I just want to make sure we're clear, I love you...I love you so much...and I don't want you to forgive me."

"Teej..." Spinelli started.

"No. Just listen...listen to everything...and know that I'm sorry, and I don't expect you to forgive me, nor do I feel I deserve it."

"I'm listening," Spinelli whispered, chewing her bottom lip, her nervous habit.

"Spinelli," TJ started, "I'm so sorry..."

* * *

END A/N: Hoped you enjoyed. Um...er...can't talk now, maybe next chapter. Um, keep in mind that although a name's been revealed, it answers nothing. Everything's gonna get a lot more confusing. I think you should read back over the story and look at how unsimilar all the attacks have been, think it over. uh...

please **_REVIEW_**, and excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

Thanks for reading, until we meet again.


	21. Words Within Words

A/N: Wow, this one is short, and so much is revealed (emotion-wise, the mystery itself just gets a little more confusing).

Thanks to the reviewers (there are sooooo many this time):

DarkAngelGuadianLight: EX-WIFE?!?! He's only twenty-five, and he's always been with Spinelli...did he get married behind her back? OHMYGOD! He got married behind her back! Bad TJ! HAHAHA! You're fun.

Momo-chan: Sorry about the cliffhangers...mm...yeah, pretty much everyone is in love with Spinelli...well, besides Mikey, Gus, Randall, all the Ashleys, Theresa, definitely Gretchen, and um...Phil, and, let's see...all the hospital staff, Mrs. Dettwieler's not really in love with her, um...the psycho (from what we can tell)...uh...am I missing anyone? Oh, and that other national guard officer.

TNPD: Get off the edge of your seat, you might fall. I know I have before.

pixievix: long time no review! I appreciate that you like my story so much though!

mischeif-maker: you read and reviewed all my fanfics, what is there to say to you besides a big WOW! I'd say holy shit, but I don't think that's very polite at this moment. Maybe I will tomorrow.

RavenForever: You can have Francis so long as I get TJ. Randall...hm...let's review, he works for a private sector of the CIA, which basically mean license to kill. But that little comment in ch. 20 is explained later.

xXxSarahxXx: Yeah, great, they're all in one place, makes 'em easier to kill...none of that hunting them down stuff going on...hehe...er...who's Clara? Anyone, anyone? Ooo...Ferris Bueller moment...um...read on and FIND OUT!

Oh, and a little game for you to think about: I'll give a prize to whoever finds the connection (in the actual Recess series) between Mrs. Dettwieler and Miss Finster, and a slap in the head to anyone who says TJ as the answer, or anything equally obvious and idiotic.

Oh, and I decided to start recommending music to listen to while you read the chapter. For this one...um...I'd go with either Breathe by Melissa Etheridge, Halo by Oleander, or All Eyes On Me by the Goo Goo Dolls.

OKAY. On your mark, get set, ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 21: Words Within Words 

Vince thought about knocking on the door before entering. He wasn't certain what he should do. If he knocked, he'd be sent away, almost assuredly. If he just barged in, he'd be yelled at then most definitely sent away. But at least barging in guaranteed him a chance to see Spinelli. He sighed, torn between two decisions that basically whittled down to a more complex a decision. Should he talk to her or not? He looked down at his feet, studying the large tennis shoes he wore.

TJ. Vince had gone to see TJ with Francis, watched as they rushed him through the ER, as a doctor and staff of nurses took over. They were saying things that Vince didn't understand, talking about his medical condition and what drugs to give him and what needed to be looked at. Vince had watched until he couldn't stomach it anymore, turning away. Blood, there was a lot of blood. They had to take x-rays, give him a blood transfusion. They were lucky. TJ had a rare blood type and the hospital happened to have one match.

When he couldn't stand it any longer, Vince had left for the restroom to clean himself up. Somehow, he'd gotten tears in his eyes, and across his face. Why did it bother him so much? He hated TJ. He hated TJ. He...did he? He'd been so worried, been so afraid, all for a man that he'd claimed to hate for the longest time. We'd been best friends once, he reassured himself, he was just used to feeling that way. Lingering feelings of friendship weren't uncommon if you'd been as close as TJ and him had. TJ had taken Spinelli. He'd gone behind Vince's back and took her. Stole her. Vince nodded. Yeah, that was how it was. He felt someone tugging on his shirt and looked down. A small young boy looked up at him with wide eyes, ruffled hair, a red cap.

"Hello there," Vince greeted, kneeling down, "Are you looking for someone?"

"Are you 'Invincible' Vincent LaSalle?" the little boy asked. "Can I have your autograph?" 

"No, I'm not," Vince told him. The little boy looked confused.

"But you look like him."

"I get that a lot, it's not me," he told the boy. The little boy turned away, angrily, shuffling back from where he'd come, most likely back to his parents.

Vince frowned. He was supposed to just be himself back at home, not some basketball superstar. He hadn't meant to hurt the boy's feelings or disappoint him; Vince just wanted to be himself, not some celebrity. He didn't want to be the 'Invincible' Vincent LaSalle; he just wanted to be good ol' Vince. He stood to face the door again and return to his prior ponderings, but it swung open, Gretchen standing in front of him. She was wearing a hospital gown, and her hair was wet. She looked taken aback when she saw him standing there, and then stood her ground again, frowning at him.

"Spinelli's gone," she informed him.

"Gone? Again?" he cried frantically, "I have to get..." Gretchen rolled her eyes.

"She went to see TJ," Gretchen said matter-of-factly, bitingly. Vince lowered his eyes. It stung.

"She alright?" Vince asked.

"No," Gretchen muttered, "But you try telling her to lay down and rest when she wants to do something else. I mean, the drugs worked for a short time, but when she woke up she was gone..."

"Oh...are you alright?"

"Hun..." Gretchen snorted, "So you did notice I existed despite Spinelli's current situation."

"What?" Vince narrowed his eyes at her, "I never..."

"Cared? Yeah, I got that," Gretchen interjected vindictively, she turned back into the room, looked over her shoulder, "Come on." Vince followed her, shutting the door behind him. Gretchen sat on one of the beds, eyeing Vince with casual observance. "She's not made of glass, Vince," Gretchen finally said.

"And she's not invincible either, despite what she may think," Vince spat back. Gretchen smirked spitefully at him.

"You really are a masochist, you know that?" Gretchen told him, shaking her head.

"I am not," Vince argued, but not quite sure what she was getting at.

"You're in love with someone who is in love with someone else, and you constantly pursue her despite the fact you are only setting yourself up for hurt. I've come to wonder if you do it because you like it, which would make you a masochist...either that or you're just stupid," Gretchen clarified, leaning back and staring up at him. He just stood, shocked and miserable.

"Spinelli can't love TJ," Vince attempted.

"Oh, but she does. And, quite honestly Vince, you aren't handling this situation very well. In fact, you're coming off as the jerk."

"Gee, thanks." Vince snorted sarcastically.

"Vince, think about it. She loves TJ. She woke up looking for _him_, not you. She went out in the storm, dove into floodwater to save _him_, not you. She's cried and threatened and been absolutely miserable because she thinks she's lost _him_, not you," Gretchen shook her head, "Need I go on?"

"What do you want me to say? That it matters? That you're right, all mighty Gretchen, all knowing Gretchen? Don't you think I know all of that? I just...I wanted to have..." Vince slumped next to Gretchen, at a loss for words. "I knew. The whole time I knew how TJ felt. Back when I told him that I had a crush on Spinelli, I could see it so clearly in his eyes, this turmoil. It felt...gratifying? I'd beat him. I was so selfish back then. Now that I had told him how I felt for Spinelli, he couldn't make a move for her and I could, because I had staked my claim and he hadn't." Gretchen's lips parted slightly, her eyes narrowing at Vince in obvious realization.

"You knew how TJ felt...that he was...that he liked Spinelli?"

"Yeah...I did...but I didn't register it. Not back then; I didn't know why I was doing what I was doing. I wanted to win, Gretchen, I couldn't lose. Not even to my best friend, not even so he could be happy."

"And Spinelli?"

"I knew how she felt back then too...but _I wanted to win_...or no one could."

"Vince, that's awful." He closed his eyes, lowered his head in shame, tears squeezing out down his cheeks.

"I know...I was selfish...so damn selfish. And then, when my life wasn't working out the way I wanted. No girlfriend, no one to love or come home to at night, I blamed TJ. And it just got easier blaming him for everything," Vince went on, "When I saw Spinelli again, she looked so...unchanged, and beautiful. She looked like a savior, my savior. She could rescue me from my life, from this horrible life that I carved out for myself. Take me back to a childhood when I was happy. I'm miserable Gretchen. I live each day wishing I didn't wake up the next morning. It's getting harder to pull myself out of bed. It's getting harder to face that crowd.

"A cheering crowd of fans screaming that they love me and worship me, and not one that knows me, knows the real me. Even my teammates don't know me. I wanted to go back...that's why I came here every weekend. Sure, I wanted to see my parents, but I was more looking...looking for something that would wake me up from this dream and return me to my life as a fourth grader at Third Street, where I'd run around with my friends outside, sip milkshakes at Kelso's, watch Senor Fusion and Beanie McChimp and all the great cartoons on Saturday morning...something..."

"Vince...I didn't know..."

"Out there, when I'm on the court, and the fans are cheering loudly, I imagine that they're not cheering for the superstar they see running around, passing the ball and shooting hoops, I imagine they're kids on a playground and they're cheering _me_ on. And that somewhere, in that crowd, are these kids that know me, the real me, who I really am. It gets me through the game, through the day..."

"Vince..." He seemed to awaken from a trance then, wiping his eyes, shaking his head, looking at her owlishly.

"I'm sorry, Gretch...I just..."

"It's okay, Vince, I know what you mean. I don't exactly have a crowd of cheering fans, but I do have colleagues and a non-existent life outside of the lab," Gretchen told him, "But no one who gets me, no one who understands that science isn't my life, more so my passion. I've often recollected my childhood memories in miserable nostalgia." Gretchen stared down at her open palms, tracing their lines and contours, "No one ever has the same close relationships that they had in their childhood, because adult humans can't psychologically connect on that level. They have to be practical and mature. Emotions become more complex, not as simple as when you're a child. At least, that's my hypothesis on the matter."

"I guess...it was also...I mean, TJ was always better with people. Everyone loved him. Girls loved him. He could have had almost any girl he wanted. He had so much potential to do anything he wanted and me...I was so jealous. Girls liked me, yeah, but because I was a jock and I guess good-looking. They couldn't get past those superficial things to who I really was. Spinelli understood me, she knew who I really was and she always brought me back down when my head got big. When I found out that TJ was with her..._everybody_ knew who he was, who he _really_ was. He didn't need Spinelli, he could have had anyone and they'd all understand him, but Spinelli...she was all I had," Vince looked to the far wall as though searching for answers to questions he couldn't ask, "I lost. TJ won."

"Whatever," Gretchen snapped, pulling herself to her feet, walking away from him in search of her clothes.

"What?" Vince demanded, cautious of her new behavior. Gretchen reeled on him, eyes flaring.

"You're so full of shit, Vince. I thought Mikey was the dramatic one, but apparently I was wrong," Gretchen snarled, "Oh..._nobody loves me, nobody understands_. Jesus, Vince, you're such a crybaby." Vince furrowed his brows, confused.

"What? What are you talking about, just a moment ago..."

"You keep talking about Spinelli like she's some goddamned goddess," Gretchen snapped, "Like she's little Miss Perfect and can make everything better. Why is everyone falling for Spinelli? She's a violent tomboy with an attitude problem! She's short...repugnant, volatile, rude, obnoxious..."

"Gretch...I don't understand. She was your best friend...why do you feel so strongly about her?"

"_Why?_ Because everyone is going on and on about how great she is and no one seems to realize what she truly is. A bitch, a genuine bitch. She has you all fooled," Gretchen shook her head, breaking into tears, "And I guess they just look right through me. Always have..." She turned from him, covering her face with her hands, crying softly, "I might as well be glass or just plain invisible the way no one sees me."

"You're jealous of Spinelli?"

"Yeah, I am! Why wouldn't I be? Look at her! She doesn't realize that she's got guys groveling for her attention, really attractive guys, she's too busy trying to win TJ back! She could just forget TJ and have her pick of any great guy and be just as well off...but me? I've never even been asked out on a date, let alone had a guy glance at me! No one would give me the time of day!"

"Gretchen, how can you be jealous of Spinelli? You're smart, you have a lot going for you."

"Smart, yes, the smart girl. Me, yeah...great, I'm smart. Other than that, I'm no one."

"You're not a no one. I can see you, I'm not looking through you."

"You did, and you keep doing it. It's worse with you, because you do it and don't even realize that you are," Gretchen sobbed, glaring at him now, "_Spinelli's the only one who ever got you_? That's what you really think? _Spinelli was your only chance, all you had_? _Spinelli always brought you back_? And what the hell am I? Just a part of the background?"

"Oh...oh god...Gretchen," Vince cried out in realization, "I didn't know..."

"Didn't know? I liked you Vince, there was a time the smart girl had feelings and was human. She wasn't just a brain with legs and glasses," Gretchen closed her eyes, "But you were too busy trying to impress Spinelli and drag her away from TJ that you never realized."

"I'm sorry, I..."

"You never noticed me! You never cared! I was a nobody to you," Gretchen screamed. She fell silent, trying to compose herself and Vince was uncertain of what to say. Finally, in a small whisper, she spoke again, "Leave. I want to be alone." Vince nodded, standing. He made his way to the door, reached for the doorknob, and stopped, staring blankly at the nice white obstruction.

"6th grade," Vince finally said, and Gretchen eyed him curiously, "I saw you waiting. You had your hair tied up and new braces...and you were wearing this dress. It was red and there was a yellow design. The sun was behind you and you looked so...pretty. _You_ looked like a goddess...an angel," He turned slightly, meeting her eyes that were so cold and dead, filled with anger and hate, "I...I couldn't get close to you, Gretchen. You never let anyone...I thought I wasn't good enough for you; that you'd never fall for a stupid jock. You were never a nobody to me, Gretchen, you'll never be a nobody to me. I'm sorry. Sometimes things don't happen. In a perfect world...hell, what's the use?" He left the room, Gretchen watching the door close, feeling her heart sink, break and shatter.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli sat down in a chair beside TJ's bed, glancing at him every now and then. He was silent, considering how to word what he had to say. She wanted to speak up, to tell him to forget it, that she wanted to forgive him no matter what, and that she loved him. But she couldn't. She wanted to tell him how it hurt her, him breaking up with her, wanted to tell him how upset she'd been, that she wanted things back to normal. But she didn't. She just sat patiently, picking at lint on her hospital gown.

"I'm not perfect," TJ started, his voice so soft and silent, "I screwed everything up. I wish I had...that we had never come back here."

"It's my fault," Spinelli broke in, "I forced you to come here, 'cause I had to fight in that damned tournament."

"Don't, Spinelli. Don't put any blame on yourself," TJ told her, "I made this mess. I should have known...I should have seen..."

"What, Teej? Known what?"

"Clara," he whispered, and she could feel her heart thump.

"Who is she? Who is Clara?"

"She's not Clara," he muttered, "She's not...she's Mary Anna...I think."

"But who is she?"

"The doll...that was the name of the doll," TJ struggled, thinking things through again.

"Teej..."

"She's the one, Spinelli, the one that's been doing all of this, she has to be. The picture...I need the picture," he seemed to look around him, then closed his eyes, "Where are my clothes?"

"Um...over there," Spinelli got up, made her way to a table where TJ's clothes were laid out. They were soaked, dirty.

"In the pocket, of my jeans," he told her. She reached in, pulled out some damp money, his wallet, and what appeared to have been a picture. She handed it to him.

"It's ruined," she explained, "Must have happened while you were in the water." He nodded. "Who's Clara? You know her, don't you?"

"Yes. I can't believe I couldn't see it...blonde curls...brown eyes," TJ turned away from Spinelli who'd retaken her seat, "Chief's secretary, Clara."

"I know her," Spinelli narrowed her eyes at him, "I think. Blonde curls...she said she worked for High Society...she's in my painting class. She's not very good at it. She's that bitch that always gives me trouble when I call?" She stood up again, making her way for the door, "I have to go tell the others. We can go to the police or something now..."

"Spinelli," TJ whispered. She paused, "I slept with her." Spinelli had to grip the door for support, her knees weakening, her heart fluttering. She felt lightheaded, lost, tears springing to her eyes. He might as well have shot her. Her breathing was shaky, unsteady.

"What?" she whispered, hoping, praying, pleading that those words didn't mean what she thought they did.

"Do you really want me to say it?" TJ asked, his voice hoarse, a broken whisper.

"No. Did you enjoy it?"

"God, Spinelli..." he moaned, not even wanting to think about that.

"Why are you telling me this?

"Because, you need to know."

"No, I don't," she turned to him, frustration and anger burning on her face, "Lie to me, Teej. Tell me it never happened; tell me it's a joke. Lie to me."

"I can't," he murmured, "I can't..."

"Yes you can, you lie to me all the time. You lie about everything. Lie about this," she screamed, "Lie to me, Teej. Tell me a lie! I don't want to know about this, I don't want the truth, I want a lie."

"Not about this, Spinelli. I screwed up. I was drunk...but that doesn't matter," he shook his head, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." Spinelli couldn't stop the world from spinning, couldn't stop her world from slipping. Her lip, trembling, her voice lost in the confusion. She wanted to vomit, to cry, to throw something across the room, to scream at TJ, make him take the words back, erase it all.

"When?" she whispered. She had to know; she had to know everything, even as it ripped her apart, she had to know.

"After Kelso's...after you ran off..."

"You broke up with me what...an hour before you screwed her?" Spinelli laughed resentfully.

"No...I don't know..." TJ sighed, "I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that, Teej, and you also keep saying you don't want me to forgive you. You can't be sorry for something you don't want to be forgiven for, it doesn't work that way. Is she pretty?"

"What? I don't think that..."

"I asked if she was pretty. Is she prettier than me?"

"She's okay looking, I guess...she's not you."

"She was a satisfactory substitute though, huh?"

"Spin..."

"I'm gonna ask you again, Teej. Did you enjoy it?"

"I...I was drunk, Spinelli, I don't know."

"Did you enjoy fucking the bitch?" Spinelli cried. TJ flinched. They were harsh words.

"I..." he tried thinking about it. Did he? Had he enjoyed it? He tried thinking back to that night, back to what had happened. He couldn't really remember. For the most part it was all a blur. "I..." he tried again. He had been thinking about her, about the misery he'd cause her, about what he'd done to her, he wasn't even thinking about what he was doing. "I can't Spinelli, I can't...I don't know. I don't think I cared." Spinelli shook her head.

"I have to get out of here," she muttered, making her way to the door.

"Spinelli..."

"Don't call me that. You can't call me that."

"I've always called you that." She didn't say anything. "What do I call you?"

"You can call me Ashley," she spat, flinging the door open, "If anything at all." TJ silently watched her leave, shutting the door behind her. She stormed down the hallway, past Francis talking on his phone. He called after her, but it was useless. She ran down the halls, wondering if she could leave the hospital, wanting to leave the hospital. She wanted to go home, somewhere where she could feel safe, somewhere where she could feel like a child, like a small child. Somewhere where she could feel like her self. At that moment, though, she didn't really care where she went, as long as it was somewhere she could cry.

-0-0-0-0-

Francis opened the door to TJ's room, peeked his head in.

"What did you say to her?" he demanded, discovering TJ lying awake. TJ said nothing, staring up at the ceiling, silent. Francis shook his head, crossing the room angrily. "I asked what you said to her? What did you do?"

"Why does it matter to you?" TJ asked, refocusing on Francis.

"Ashley is my friend and when she storms out of a room upset it matters to me," he snapped, "She came in here hoping to make amends with you but you..."

"I don't think you're understanding things, Francis," TJ mumbled, "She deserves someone better."

"Who out there is better for her?" Francis demanded, "Who knows her better than you? You really think she'll be better off with some jerk that can't make her happy?"

"I keep hurting her, Francis, I keep messing things up," TJ hissed, "I screwed up big time. What makes you think I can make her happy?"

"Does what I think really matter?" Francis sneered, "You're the lucky one, Dettwieler, you're the one she chose. You're the one she wanted to be with. You're the only one she ever wanted to be with. If that doesn't make you deserving of being with her, what the hell does?"

"Why are you even here, Francis? Why are you trying to make everything better? You've always wanted to be with her, here's your chance," TJ spat.

"You're wrong. You'll always be the one she wants, and I don't want to live in your goddamned shadow. Think what you want, but it doesn't change facts. You'll always be the one in her heart, the one she thinks of every minute of every fucking day. No one will ever fit with her the way you did," Francis shook his head, turning to leave, "When'll you figure that out? When it's too late? I feel sorry for you, I really do. You had what other people dream of, your soul mate. No long years searching, no painful nights alone, she was right there beside you all along. And you threw it all away." He left the room, closing the door behind him.

Francis shook his head, looked to Ashley Q. leaning against the wall. She was watching him curiously.

"How's Ashley T.?" he asked.

"Her injuries are superficial," Ashley Q. answered solemnly, "And Gus is fine too. A little eccentric, but fine." She pushed away from the wall, met his eyes, "What's it like to be in love?"

"You're married," Francis chuckled, "I would think you'd know that already." She shrugged, looked away.

"Every night I lie awake waiting for my husband to come home and ask myself that question," she told him, "I figured you would know."

"In case you haven't noticed I'm not exactly sporting a shiny gold band around my finger," Francis muttered. He looked at her, frowning slightly, eying the tile, silent, "It hurts like hell."

"Do you think Spinelli will be alright?"

"No," Francis shrugged, walking away, "But that's never stopped her before."

"I'm sorry I'm such a bitch," Ashley Q. called after him, "I guess that's why I've never been in love."

"That's not why you've never been in love," Francis mumbled, "There just ain't a lot of great guys out there to fall in love with."

"For what it's worth, I think you're a great guy," Ashley Q. told him.

"And yet, I'm alone," Francis chuckled, "I have to go find...I guess I'll go talk to Randall, find out what happened. I'll see you."

-0-0-0-0-

Mikey walked with Gus down the hallway towards the maternity ward. He held onto Gus's hand, leading him, glancing at him every now and then, scared. Gus was blind and a little delirious. Theresa had demanded to see her husband, despite the dissuasion of Ashley A. who claimed the man wasn't in the right condition. Poor Theresa, Mikey thought, stopping just outside the room Theresa was in.

"Are you ready, Gus?" Mikey asked, but received no answer. With a sigh, and a gentle heave, Mikey swung the door open and entered, leading Gus. Theresa looked up when they walked in. She was sitting in a chair dressed in clean dry clothes, a blanket draped over her shoulders. A nurse was sitting beside her, directing her through breast-feeding. Theresa smiled slightly.

"Will you take her?" Theresa asked the nurse, handing the small baby over to outstretched arms. The nurse left the room, a slight nod of her head at Mikey and Gus. Theresa struggled to stand, smiling apologetically at the two men.

"I'm still getting used to the weight being gone," she explained.

"Theresa, I don't think it's a good idea, Gus being here," Mikey spoke up, determined to voice his opinion. She nodded at him, acknowledging his words, but wasn't listening. She stepped forward, faced her husband.

"Gus?" she whispered. He pouted, trembling, tears forming in his eyes.

"No..."

"Gus," she tried again, "Speak to me."

"No..." Theresa frowned. Mikey hadn't the time to stop her, hearing only the crack as her hand slapped across Gus's face.

"Snap out of it, soldier," she commanded with all the force of a naval officer.

"Theresa, what's gotten into you?" Mikey cried out, reaching for Gus, "Beating him won't..."

"Theresa..." Gus mumbled, blinking as though waking from a long slumber. Mikey backed off. Gus looked to his wife, his cheeks damp, his bottom lip trembling, "Theresa?" Her small hand snaked behind his neck, gently pulling him towards her. He lay his forehead on her shoulder, sobbing.

"It's alright, Gus," she soothed, holding him, kissing him, "You're safe now. It's alright." He wrapped his arms about her, pulling back to meet her eyes.

"I missed you," he whispered, "I couldn't find you. I kept looking..."

"I know, love," she told him, brushing the tears from his eyes, "But I'm here now." She brushed her lips against his, having to stand on her tiptoes to reach, "I'm going to be here from now on."

"Oh god, Theresa," Gus moaned, pulling away, turning his back on her, "So many things...so much happened...I have to...they have to know."

"Okay," Theresa told him, her hand gently touching his back, "Okay..."

"So we're finally going to get answers?" Mikey sighed, anxious, "I'll get everyone together." He left the room in a hurry, leaving behind the two lovers. Gus shuddered slightly, receiving a curious glance from his wife. The room wasn't really cold, in fact, it was kind of hot in there.

"I'm sorry," he told her, his voice breaking with a sob.

"For what?"

"The doll."

* * *

END A/N: oi.oi. So short. So sadly short...hm...so we got fights going on between people, my favorite conversation would be the one between Vince and Gretchen, I loved that part. I like to read over it again and again just to feel the sad emotions that it gives me...I read it aloud sometimes with all the anger and pent up sadness...sigh. 

I don't want to hear anymore Poor Spin going on. That bitch has three guys in love with her...even if the one she really loves keeps pushing her away, and slept with another woman....awww.....poor spin...

In case you're wondering, or just haven't figured it out yet, I'm a sucker for TJ torture. BIG sucker for TJ torture. The hottest pic of a guy I've ever seen is from Juvenile Orion (manga) and the two main characters are all bandaged up and bloody. That's how I like my TJ. This laying down in a bed thing is...no wait, that works too. Hehe....oi...I'm a sick sadist, leave me.

Er....please **_REVIEW_** and excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

Thanks for reading. Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good-bye 'till it be NEXT UPDATE!


	22. Killing the Fire

A/N: Real quick, 'cause I have to eat dinner...damn dinner. Er...mm...what is there to take care of...nothing?

OHMYGOD! I JUST KILLED AN INSECT! This does not reflect well on my karma...(sob)

Thanks to all my reviewers:

xXxSarahxXx: You beat TNPD...yay! Um..a fairly lengthy review that I greatly appreciate. I'm glad you found the slap scene funny, I found it highly approriate. How do you know Gretchen and Vince love each other? I don't think they do. It's not really my favorite of couples from the series either...

TNPD: I don't care who takes Francis so long as I get TJ. You and RavenForever can fight over him. TO THE DEATH!! heheh...er...about the Finster/Dettwieler connection, look deeper. Erm...OH! You do not go unnoticed here, you are a very special person on my review board because of your loyalty and kindness...though I do admit that sometimes I feel like Gretchen in that part of the story as well.

DarkAngelGaudianLight: Reviews getting shorter. (grin)

mischeif-maker: I have no sanity left, why should you?

RavenForever: (sniffles), no long review...how will I get through the day without your long review...I'll understand this once because you have kept to your vow.

RT(the anonymous): welcome to my review board and I'm glad you stumbled upon my story and liked it rather than put your foot all in a great deal of crap because that would be bad...I have no idea what I'm talking about, hope to see you review this chapter.

THANKS EVERYONE!

In regards to my little contest. I should put a few rules: It ends next chapter, I'll reveal the connection if no one gets it, the prize goes to the first person who discovers the connection, and...um...

Music, the background music I'd recommend for this fic are as follows, To Be Free by Emiliana Torrini, Let Go by Frou Frou, or Broken Bridge by Daughter Darling.

Burn baby burn, ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 22: Killing the Fire

Francis frowned at the sulking, black clad form sitting in the lobby. He, like everyone else at Third Street, had not been fond of the little snitch. Randall had been nothing short of loathsome in grade school, getting everyone in trouble just for the slightest of attention from the hall monitor, a beastly woman by the name of Finster. But now, looking at this small huddled man, Francis felt remorse, pity. Randall looked pathetic, lonely, broken and Francis couldn't muster the strength to hate him.

Francis moved through the small crowd of people gathered in the lobby towards Randall, slinked into a seat next to him, and fell silent. Randall turned, acknowledged him with a nod, and then looked back down at his hands, which seemed to fascinate the younger man. Francis looked to the ceiling, searching for the words.

"What happened here?" Randall beat him to it. Francis looked back to the curly-topped boy.

"A lot," Francis shrugged, "From what I can figure, we're all in serious trouble. We have no idea who's behind all of this."

"The fire, at the library?"

"Yeah, that. Dead birds, kidnappings, fires...broken dolls."

"Broken dolls?" Randall's face twisted, contorted with some odd emotion.

"You all right?" Francis asked, straightening in his chair. Randall nodded, but his face and manner said otherwise. "Randall..."

"I said I'm fine," Randall snapped, his voice cracking, "I just...I'm tired, that's all. There's nothing else wrong."

"I heard you saved Gretchen's life, and helped Theresa give birth," Francis chuckled, "Definitely not what I'd have expected from you."

"Then forget it happened," Randall muttered. Francis raised an eyebrow at those words.

"The Randall I once knew would have milked that kind of heroic action for all it was worth," Francis said, "You're not all right, Randall. Tell me what's wrong."

"Why the hell do you care?"

"I don't know. I've got nothing better to do."

"Don't waste your pity on evil."

"I'm not wasting...what? Evil?" Randall sighed, burying his face in his hands once more.

"Yes, evil. That's what I am isn't it?"

"You were a pain in the ass but I wouldn't go so far as to call you evil," Francis mumbled, glancing precariously at the younger man, "I mean, well, I kind of thought it was evil when you busted me in fifth grade for selling contraband Winger Dingers, but I got over it."

"Sorry about that," Randall muttered.

"Hey, you were just doing your job."

"I'm always just doing my job, huh?"

"I don't get what you're saying," Francis closed his eyes, "So why don't you start by telling me why the hell you're here."

"I came back," Randall started, scrunching his nose, "For time off."

"From your job?"

"Yeah," Randall looked up, "My job."

"Why didn't you go somewhere else? Like, the beach or something?" Francis gave Randall a once over, imagining the younger man on the beach all dressed in black pants and a long black trench coat. It was a funny image and he broke into a smile. Randall shot him a quizzical glance.

"Do you know what it means? To be a part of the CIA?" Randall asked. It was an odd question, but Francis was willing to bite.

"Sure. Espionage, anti-terrorism, saving the world as we know it, hunting down kids downloading music illegally," Francis shrugged, trying to remember all the small time crap he knew about the CIA from TV shows and movies.

"Homeland Security with a gun to your head," Randall chuckled cynically, "It means killing, death, don't fuck with the government or you'll find yourself with a sniper's bullet right through your goddamned eye."

"Jesus, Randall," Francis muttered. What had that kid gotten himself into?

"I was the best. The clean up man," Randall continued, "I took care of what other agents screwed up. They would hand me an assignment and assume it was done in a day or less."

"What kind of assignment only takes a day?" Francis questioned, though almost certain he'd regret the answer. Randall raised his index finger, cocking his thumb, shaping his hand like a gun and pointing to some far off distance.

"Bang," he hissed in a mock report, jolting his imaginary gun back from the fake force of the nonexistent bullet. He lowered his hand, looked to the slack-jawed Francis, smiled sadly, and whispered, "See, evil? The evil kill, don't they? Evil."

"That...um...it doesn't make you evil," Francis choked out.

"Doesn't it?" Randall stared blankly into the empty air, "My last target was this man. He was helping to fund the illegal shipping of guns...something like that. He was supposed to be our inside man, but he double-crossed us and we had to take him out before he screwed everything up. So, of course, they sent me in," Randall's eyes seemed to glaze over at the memory, tears quickly dribbling down to his chin, "I took a hand gun, it was nothing a small pistol and silencer couldn't handle. I was always best at stealth work, making my way in with no problem. The man was alone, he saw me before I could take my shot, knew automatically why I was there. He begged. I'd never been faced with a begging man before...I'd been trained to deal with one...but it's different. The real thing is different then the practice. They don't tell you everything the desperate targets will say. He told me of his family, of his pregnant wife, of his five-year-old daughter. He shoved the pictures into my face.

"There was one picture in particular that caught my eye, of him and his little girl at the park. I hesitated, took the picture from his trembling hands, inspected it. They looked happy in the picture. I couldn't recall ever being as happy as they looked. Too late, from the corner of my eye I saw motion. He was reaching for a gun. I dropped the picture. He took his shot and I took mine. My aim was better, which would be why I'm here right now.

"There was blood, splattered across the picture, staining his little girl's face," Randall's voice broke, his bottom lip quavering, "I heard guards outside, they'd heard his gun go off. I had to get out of there; of course, they'd kill me if they found me. He'd got me, right through here," Randall touched the side of his waist gently, "But I had to escape. I'd never messed up like that. I'd never found myself running out of a warehouse with guns firing erratically at me like that. I dragged myself back to headquarters, dripping of blood and so weak. I'd forgotten long ago why I'd gotten into it...why I'd gotten into the CIA. I guess I'd forgotten to care...

"They would tell us that those guys...those _targets_ were the bad guys. That what they'd done was wrong. With them...with the government, two wrongs _do_ make a right. Killing _is _wrong isn't it?" Randall closed his eyes, leaned back into his chair, "I've forgotten." His breathing was haggard, his eyes sunken in, his lips dried and cracked. His weasel features had long ago given away to years of misery and turmoil. He was unfortunate, a poor forgotten remnant of a once cheerful past. Francis could think of nothing to say. He had expected something shady to become of the once beady-eyed snitch, but not this.

"There's always hope, Randall," Francis finally said, "Even when you're facing the grimmest of fates, there's hope. Pandora's box, right?"

"If there is hope, it's not for me," Randall muttered, shaking his head, "I went to church the other day. I was mere inches from entering the confession box. A flicker caught my eye. There were the candles...you know, that you light for the dead. A woman was there; lighting one for god knows whom. I'd went to the man's funeral, a couple days after I'd shot him. His widow was there, dressed in a thin black dress, her stomach big from her pregnancy. Her daughter was beside her; she seemed so jaded, as though she had no idea what was going on. I had no right to be there, but something had come over me, I had to be there. They went to lower the coffin into the hole...the little girl burst into tears, she ran to it, threw herself on it...I..." He lowered his head, eyes shadowed with shame, "I wasn't supposed to go to that funeral, it was against the rules. They sent me back here...sent me off to re-center myself...to compose my emotions. It was that bitch therapist's idea."

"It wasn't a bad idea," Francis told him, "You're away from it all now, back home where you belong."

"I know where I belong and it's no where near here," Randall muttered. He shook his head, pulled himself to his feet, "I need something to drink. I think I saw vending machines over that way..."

"Randall! Francis!" Both men turned, eyeing the large blonde young man bounding upon them.

"What's going on?" Francis asked.

"It's Gus..." Mikey choked out between trying to catch his breath, "He's come to his senses. Come on, we have to...what's wrong?" Mikey looked between the two young men, both seeming more so distressed then when he'd last seen either of them.

"Nothing," Randall mumbled, glancing warily towards Francis, hoping he wouldn't share the little information that Rnadall had let slip.

"Yeah, it's nothing," Francis pulled himself to his feet with a sigh, "Let's find out what Gus has to say."

"Alright," Mikey nodded, "I have to get the others. The Ashleys are all still with Ashley T. right?"

"Yeah. I don't know where Vince is, but I don't think you'll have any luck finding Ash...er...I mean Spinelli," Francis told Mikey, "If she doesn't want to be found, trust me when I say you don't want to find her."

"Alright," Mikey nodded.

"I'll go get Gretchen," Randall muttered, turning down the hall.

"Right, I can go search for Vince," Francis volunteered.

"Thanks, I'll go round up the Ashleys. We'll meet up in TJ's room, he's the only one who can't move," Mikey agreed. The three turned their separate ways, disappearing down the white hallways of the hospital.

-0-0-0-0-

Theresa stared blankly at her husband. She had never been afraid of him before, but that wild look in his eyes, that hungry desperate look, threatened to crush the mighty courage her small frame held. She wasn't certain of his meaning. What doll? The only doll she knew of his breaking, or at least he had a hand in breaking, was Mary Anna's doll.

"Gus..." she started. He turned from her.

"I can't..." he whispered, his body trembling, "You don't know...I'm not strong enough."

"Gus, I need you," Theresa whispered, "Please, don't do this. Focus...focus on me."

"No," he mumbled, "Theresa, it won't matter. It'll never matter. I can still feel it...she can still feel it..."

"Feel what?" Theresa asked, hesitantly reaching for her husband.

"The flame...that damned fire...why won't it die...?" he turned to her, "I'm afraid."

"What happened to you, Gus?" Theresa whispered. Gus reached into his back pocket, pulled out what appeared to be a folded piece of paper warped from being wet, but now dry. He handed it over to his wife's outstretched hand. She unfolded it, stared at the paper with narrowed eyes and a rutted brow. A picture.

"Gus..." she whispered, "Is this..."

"I..." Gus swallowed hard, "Can't...don't know."

"Oh my god..."

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli buried herself in a heap on the floor of the women's restroom. She sat, staring unsure at the white tiles. Why is everything in the hospital white? She frowned. Didn't white mean purity? This hospital was anything but pure. She wrapped her arms around herself, stared across the small room at the offensive sterile white toilet, the plastic trashcan with the fresh plastic garbage bag, the porcelain sink, and the mirror. She didn't like what she saw staring back in that mirror. Dirty, disgruntled, ragged. The reflection was nothing more than a young woman with large bags and red eyes from lack of sleep and crying too much too often. She had a pale pallor, despite her natural even tan. Her lips were chapped, broken, bruised and bleeding. She had cuts along her face, neck, and arms. Scars, bruises, scratches.

"No wonder TJ doesn't want me," she whispered, "Look at me." She wasn't pretty, or cute, or beautiful. Why had TJ stayed with her so long? She remembered this Clara, only attended three of the painting classes. Blonde curls, perfectly powdered and all dolled up. She wore cute skirts and trim blouses and all the boys noticed when she walked in. Her lips were perfectly painted, her nails prettily manicured. Spinelli tugged at her hair, unwashed and tangled. Clara always had beautiful silken curls, not one strand bent, not one split end.

Spinelli tried to imagine TJ with Clara. She closed her eyes, chewed her lower lip, and fought the tears threatening to spill. She imagined the bruising kisses, the clothes carefully removed. Clara had appeared the type of girl who liked things to be soft and delicate, that if you weren't careful with her, she could break into a million pieces, or simply rip right through her. TJ himself had always been gentle and a bit shy. He seemed almost afraid to touch Spinelli sometimes, for fear of leaving a mark on her skin. Spinelli sunk her head to her knees, wrapping her arms about her face, shaking with the sobs that wracked her throat.

How could TJ do this? For all the things he'd say. _I've only ever loved you._ Were they all lies? He lied...he was best at lying. Spinelli could never tell when he was lying.

This Clara must have been a spectacular person, Spinelli decided. From the looks of her, Clara had probably been with several men, probably knew all the tricks of the sexual game. Spinelli had only ever been with TJ. They both learned together. Maybe he'd grown bored with the way Spinelli did things; maybe he'd wanted to try new things the whole time. The idea mortified Spinelli. She'd never wanted to explore, she'd always simply wanted to be with TJ. Was that so hard? To want to lay with the same person every night? And love them the same way, beautifully and passionately?

Spinelli looked up again to the mirror. She couldn't cry anymore. She was too tired, too worn out. She had no more tears. _I'm sorry._ What right did TJ have to be sorry? If he was so goddamned sorry he wouldn't have done it in the first place. She stood up, moved wearily towards the sink and turned the water on, splashing some of the cool substance against her face, scrubbing it into her cheeks. She looked up and started. For a moment, she'd seen another person's reflection staring back at her. A little girl perhaps with sullen eyes and parted lips, gaping back at her. But it was gone now. She turned around, leaned against the sink. What was wrong with her? She hadn't had enough sleep and she still felt ill. Running around in the rain, what had she been thinking? That was right, she hadn't, been thinking that is.

Spinelli could see the image clearer now in her mind, vivid. TJ with Clara. It disgusted her. Their flesh against flesh, their bodies melded as one. She could see Clara dig her nails into TJ, cry out in orgasmic pleasure. She couldn't stop now, that image. Would she ever be able to stop it? _I'm taking him from you._ Spinelli shook her head.

"No..." she whispered. _Because you don't deserve him._ "No," more firmly. _I just wanted you to know._ "No!" Spinelli screamed, new tears dampening her face, falling to the tile, staining that perfect white with those dirt smudged droplets. She slipped to the floor, too tired to fight it anymore, "Hell...you can have him..." she muttered, "Maybe he wants you..."

-0-0-0-0-

Vince pushed the glowing plastic buttons. G...5...he watched the metal spiral whirl, and the package drop. He bent, pushed open the black flap, pulled out his purchase, and frowned at it. He _wasn't_ hungry. He walked to the trashcan, dumped his purchase, and began walking away, sighed, turned back to the machine and stared indecisively through the clear plastic at the selection of packaged goods once more. He pushed in his money, sixty-five cents, compressed the plastic buttons engraved with letters and numbers. Watched the spiral twirl again as it relinquished the packaged product, again; stooped, sighed, stood up, and walked away.

"What is wrong with me?" he mumbled beneath his breath. _Everything._ Nobody's perfect. _The eye of the beholder._ Stop it. He stared through the thick glass into a patient's room. He must have stumbled into the children's ward, because behind that glass was a little girl that couldn't have been older than eight. She was sleeping, a machine beside her humming, appearing to be breathing for her. She was so small, helpless. Her hair was matted, frayed, and pressed beneath her against the soft, white, cotton pillow. Her eyes fluttered every now and then. _If you could save the world, or just one life, which would you choose?_ You would say the world, of course, because it's so much grander scaled, arguably so much more important. But what about that one life? Was it not important too? _What is the world without that one life? _Nothing changes. It'll always be the same. _It always changes._ But we don't change, not fast enough. _The fires, the floods, they'll wash it all away._

Vince refocused his vision on his own reflection in the windowpane. "I've changed," he noticed, searching that reflection for the child he'd once been. He'd never noticed before how time aged. _One life._ "I'm sorry," he told that reflection. Who was he kidding? _That life._ Who was he trying to fool with this confident façade? _There is no world._ Who was he trying to prove himself to? _Not without that one life._ "TJ's my best friend," Vince muttered in an almost silent realization, "I could never hate him." He choked on those last words, his face breaking its stone clad hold on anger, "And I can't keep living with that lie." Wrinkled grudge gave way to a silent smiling young boy. _You save that one life._ Vince touched the glass carefully, tracing an outline around his face. _And you'll save the world._ "There I am," he smiled, streams of tears racing down his face, "I've been inside him all along." _You are perfect._ Vince turned away, breathing softly. There was so much he had to fix. So much he had to forgive himself for, and seek forgiveness for. Things he didn't think he could be forgiven for. _At least to him._ He had to go to TJ, to talk to TJ, to tell TJ everything. _To all of them._ He had to apologize to TJ, to give his friend, his best friend, that piece of both of them that he'd taken. _Behold us for we are perfect._ Vince made his way down the hall, at first in a hasty march, but breaking into a run before he'd turned the final corner. _Cast from the fire. _Vince paused, halfway to the room. _Right into the flood._

-0-0-0-0-

Ashley B. sighed; slipping into the room Ashley T. had been put in previously. She looked about that room, searching for her purse as well as the other Ashleys' things. She hadn't so much been elected to go as volunteered. She was tired of being around "sick people" as she had put it. In truth, she'd been curious. A "perverse" part of her, as she would have referred to it, wanted to see the stained sheets and dead birds. The macabre frame for the ghastly portrait of the shattered doll. Ashley B. eyed the red stains with disapproval and disgusted interest. She knelt beside the bed, noting the feathers, most likely from pigeons, broken, bent, and held in place on the white sheets with the sticky blackened red substance that could only be identified as blood. With tentative fingers she lifted the sheet, revealing the dead birds underneath. She squinted, eyeing the birds with a delicate inspection.

No eyes. Not one of the birds had eyes. Ashley B. felt her stomach lurch. They were for the most part pigeons, but there were a few sparrows as well. She let the sheet drop back down, pulled away from the bed and knocked over her purse. The sound caused her to jump.

"Calm down, Ashley," she coached herself, "Just calm down." She lifted herself off the floor, frowning. She'd gotten a dirt smudge on one of her shoes. She shook her head, and startled again when the deet-deet-a-leet of her cell phone went off. Scrambling for her purse, she dug the small object out and flipped it open and on. "Ashley here."

"It's me, Morgan," a husky voice filled her phone.

"I can't talk right now," she muttered.

"It's about the papers..."

"_Not right now_. I'm _on_ vacation," she strained each word with a dangerous hiss, and then flicked the phone off. Morgan P. Dower, her lawyer. She shook her head, surprised to find little drops of wetness splatter from her eyes. That little reminder of her _situation _had riled her up yet again. She looked at the ring on her finger. That golden band with the small diamond stone. Weddings were beautiful. Marriage was pathetic. She ripped the ring from her finger with distaste and held her arm tense, ready to fling it across the room. With a reserved sigh, she slipped the ring back on.

Ashley B. took a moment to regain control of herself, and then turned her attention back to the dead birds. They couldn't be left there. Something had to be done with them. Imagine the questions should a doctor or nurse or even a patient come across the dead birds. She pulled the sheet back entirely, covered her mouth and tried to control her gagging. There was so many, so much blood. Carefully, she touched one of the birds with trembling fingers; the feathers were so soft and pure. She gently lifted it, examined it. Glass. Glass was imbedded beneath the feathers, in the flesh. She shook her head, dropped the bird, and backed away again staring repulsed at her hand. She took a deep breath, stood up, wrapped up the sheets and pulled them off the bed. She stumbled to the window, looked down below. The room faced the back of the hospital and while there were no dumpsters underneath the window, there were no people walking below. She shoved the window open with a great deal of difficulty and braced herself against the chilling wind of the outside. She flung the sheets out the window and tossed them down, watching them fall. She turned away, unable to watch the birds scatter and splat to the pavement below.

Ashley B. made her way across the room, dug through her purse and retrieved a hand wipe, which she quickly used to clean her hands. Then she took the stuff and marched out of the room, nearly colliding with Mikey.

"Sorry," he told her quickly, "Come on," he grabbed her arm and she looked at him with disdain, unmoving.

"Where are we going?" she asked snidely.

"Oh, sorry," he chuckled, "TJ's room. Gus has come to his senses and we're meeting there to hear what he has to say." Ashley B. rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she hissed, ripping her arm from Mikey's grasp, "But I think I can follow fine without your help."

"Sorry."

-0-0-0-0-

Vince nearly collided with Francis and caught a glance of Gretchen walking along with Randall, both silent and looking positively miserable. Three of the Ashleys bounded around the corner and Mikey appeared with Ashley T.

"What is going on?" Vince stammered.

"It's story time," Francis exclaimed, prodding Vince onward, "And Gus is sharing."

They made their way into TJ's room, opening the door and all regarding one another with little more than a nod. Theresa and Gus were already seated in the room beside TJ, who had his eyes closed and appeared to be sleeping. Vince was about to say something about needing to let TJ rest, when the young man's eyes opened.

"Is everyone here yet?" TJ asked in a small whisper that Mikey had to lean in to hear.

"Yes, they are," Theresa answered gently, "Everyone except..."

"Spinelli..." TJ filled in the blank, and Vince seemed to be the only one curious about the far away look that came over his eyes.

"So, Gus has something to tell us," Gretchen spoke up, "Is it of any use to us?"

"He has a lot more than something to say," Theresa stepped up to defend her husband, "He has something to show everyone." 

"TJ has something to share as well, doesn't he?" Randall interrupted, "Like for instance, who the hell Clara is?" TJ turned away.

"She's someone I work with..."

"Really?" Francis perked up at that, crossing his arms over his chest, "Now I have to hear this."

"Shut up, it isn't like..." TJ mumbled, then trailed off. He'd slept with her, it kind of was like that, "She's my boss's secretary. I don't know her that well, I hardly ever see her...I hardly ever have to go in to work. She's connected to all of this...I think she's Mary Anna. Clara was the name of Mary Anna's doll. I never...I never saw it before..."

"So that's what that meant," Ashley A. mumbled, "TJ knew all along."

"What?" TJ shot her a questioning look. She shrugged.

"Sorry," she smiled, "It was something Gus said...when he was out of it. But we aren't gathered to hear me talk. Gus, go ahead." Everyone turned to Gus, and Theresa took his hand gently.

"Mary Anna...she isn't..." Gus lowered his eyes, studying the floor though it was all a blur without his glasses.

"Try to start from the beginning," Theresa suggested in a loving whisper. Gus met her eyes, nodded.

"It was when I found the glass...I think it was glass...in the rope that held me. I used it to break the rope..." Gus closed his eyes.

"Is that how you escaped?" Vince spoke up. He didn't usually interrupt people when they were telling a story, but Gus was taking so long to get the words out, and, honestly, Gus wasn't that clear when it came to story telling, especially in his current situation. Gus seemed torn with emotions. He looked uncertain, scared, shaken. He focused entirely on the floor.

"I didn't escape," he confessed, "I was...released..."

* * *

END A/N: Another cliffy...poor momo-chan will not be happy...

How'd you like Randall's little story? Shocking, surprising, heartwrenching? And the hint at all the problems in poor Ashley B.'s life. Maybe I can delve a little deeper into the Ashleys and Randall's personas later, same with all the other characters. And that little part with Vince, I apologize and take full responsibility for it's murky clearness. SO SORRY!

I have to go eat dinner, and I hope you enjoyed this little chapter (EMPHASIS ON LITTLE, is it just me or are my chapters getting shorter?) PLEASE go forth and REVIEW!

And...please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

Love, as always, from me. THANKS for READING. Later days...er...I don't watch the Weekenders...


	23. A Desperate Run

A/N: I'm really sorry about any errors in this chapter, I just really wanted to get it up fast.

Thanks to TNPD, RT, RavenForever, xXxSarahxXx, Momo-chan, DarkAngelGuadianLight, mischeif-maker, and pixievix for reviewing. I'm in a real hurry, so that's all the appreciation I can show to each of you at the moment, but always know that you guys totally rock for your devotion to my work and your awesome reviews.

The winner of the contest in RavenForever. The connection between Finster and Mrs. Dettwieler was April Winchell who did both of their voices. I know what you're all thinking "that's stupid", because I always feel the same way with trivia questions like that. But I always thought it was interesting, kind of like how in Peter Pan Mr. Darling and Captain Hook are traditionally done by the same person in an act of symbolism. RavenForever, choose your prize, a hint for this story or a sneak peek at my next fanfic. Choose carefully!

I have no recommendations in music for this chapter...aww...so sad.

Um...I gotta gooo! ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 23: A Desperate Run

Gus sat with his hands clenched together, glancing up every so often, although he couldn't really make out the faces of any of the other people in the room, but he knew who each of them was. He sighed, studied his feet some more, then the floor, wondered how a man with such horrible eyesight could have even found such a beautiful woman as his wife, let alone married her.

The events of that night seemed out of place in Gus's mind, a mystery within itself. He couldn't sort out what happened, not exactly in his mind. He recalled the water...slipping into its chill embrace, pushing his way forward...whispers...

"Gus?" Theresa called him back from his reminiscing. He startled back to some sort of alertness.

"Sorry..." he mumbled.

"You said you were, released?" Gretchen stepped in, "What do you mean by that? The psycho, so to speak, let you go?"

"I..." Gus closed his eyes, "I have to start from the beginning...from when I first cut the rope...when I first..."

"Go ahead then Gus," TJ told him, in that careful reassuring voice he'd always had, "No one will interrupt you. We're all listening."

"Right," Gus fidgeted, "I was going to escape. The water was my way out...at least, I thought it was..."

-----------------Almost A Day Before from Gus's Point of View------------------------

I could hear the sound of something...dripping...water. The world was so dark...and blurred. I couldn't make out any shapes without my glasses, so I simply swam in the direction I hoped led to the lake. The water was like ice, clinging to every inch, ever crevice of my already pained body. I thought...for a moment I thought that it was too easy, that my escape was too easy. I had to feel my way forward through the water, kicking my feet to stay afloat.

My hand found something...soft...floating through the water. I pulled it closer to me so that I could see it, then thrust it away again in disgust. A dead bird. It was a dead bird, it's head severed from its body, its feathers torn from its wings. Mutilated beyond species recognition. I had to bring a hand to my mouth to fight the rising bile, and I forced myself away from the defiled animal. I moved through the water only to feel something...another object. But it wasn't soft, not like the dead bird. It was smooth, delicate. I felt my fingers around the object, tracing its many curves and contours, only to find the rough edge and draw my fingers back in pain. They were bleeding. I brought this new, foreign objects closer to myself, examined it.

This one was...this object was a doll. The hair was brown, from what I could tell and completely saturated. The dress too was soaked through, stained with the dirt from the water, faded, I couldn't tell what color it had once been or what it had once looked like. The broken part, where I'd cut my fingers, was one side of the face. Where the eye, cheek, and half of the nose had once been was nothing more than a jagged edge. It appeared to have just been bashed in. The doll looked as though it had once been quite lovely.

"That's Brenda." I froze in the water, felt myself sinking beneath the surface. I had to kick to push myself back up, but I didn't know what to say. The voice was soft, quavering, and cool and disconcerted. It was somehow different then the pitch of my tormentor, but similar in a definite way. When I didn't reply, the newcomer took that as a cue to continue, "She was...very bad."

"How so...?" I stuttered, somehow finding what little courage I had. I could hear this person move, walking along the wooden floorboards of the boathouse.

"She did very bad things, nobody liked her," was the careful answer. My tormentor had never answered my questions before, acknowledged that I was a living being with a conscience, so I took this opportunity to get some answers.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Clara."

"I don't...I don't know who you are..." I whispered. The name held no familiarity. She laughed. It was slight, melodious, and odious at the same time.

"Did you do bad things too?"

"What?" I was taken aback by the question. It didn't make sense at first. Did I...had I done something wrong? I couldn't think of anything.

"I think you did," Clara continued, "I think you were very bad."

"What did I do?" The sounds stopped, everything was silent. I was even starting to believe that she'd left, or that I was only hearing things and no one had been there at all.

"Shh..." Clara whispered, close to my ear. I started. How had she done that? How was she so close? I could feel the movements in the water; feel the ripples. She was beside me, "You can't go that way," it was such a small voice.

"Why not?" I could hear my heart pounding, hear her short soft breath.

"You can't," was all she said. I could feel her touch against my skin. I reviled that touch. It was almost...inhuman. "Nobody liked Brenda. That's why she's dead." I chilled at those words. Dead. Did this Clara want me dead too, was that what she was trying to tell me?

"She was killed because no one liked her..." I began. I hope at least someone likes me.

"Yeah, just like that bitch Mary Anna," Clara hissed. I stopped breathing, my heart stilled in my chest. "Nobody liked her either."

"Mary Anna..." I whispered.

"We were friends, Mary Anna and I. We were best friends," Clara went on, I could hear her running her, maybe it was her fingers, through the water.

"What happened?" I asked, "You said nobody liked her. Didn't you like her?" Am I talking to Mary Anna, or not? Who is this Clara?

"I did. But then...then that bitch..." Clara seethed, splashing the water with anger, "She betrayed me. She took...she took what was mine..."

"Um...what was that?"

"Everybody liked me," Clara went on. She seemed to ignore my question, but I didn't push it. She was speaking to me, answering my questions; I didn't want to ruin things. "I wanted everyone to like Mary Anna as well. I felt sorry for her. He liked me...and she wanted him." I didn't know what she meant. I had to keep going though, keep her talking, no matter how afraid I was, or how my body and heart told me to run. I knew that I had to get these answers that we all needed to know.

"Who was _he_?"

"The boy," her voice lightened, the anger dispersed, "He was the cutest of all the boys. And he liked me; I could always tell when a boy liked me. We're together now, you know? He loves me...we...well, I can't tell you about that," once more her voice took that darker note, so full of loath and hate, "Mary Anna, she wanted him. She used me to get at him! But I fixed her...I fixed her real quick. No one...no one takes what is mine." She fell silent. I heard a clamor outside, and movement disturbing the water's surface, splashing me, soaking me. Something...noises...I couldn't even begin to describe those noises. I felt...something was in the water, something beneath the surface. I searched, but I couldn't see anything, just dark shapeless forms.

"What's going on?" I demanded, but before I could receive an answer I was pulled beneath the water and red overtook my eyesight, everything was red...I couldn't fight what held me, I couldn't reach the surface. There was pounding, something pounding and I could feel the vibrations in the water. That's when they hit me. The shards of glass, they had to be glass, and the heat, the unbearable heat. I'm being cooked alive! I kicked out against whatever held me, forced my way to the surface of the water, my lungs ready to burst.

I could hear laughter. Not the girlish giggles that I'd often heard, but uproarious laughter.

"He's back," a voice whispered in my ear.

"Who? Who's back? Who's he? The boy?" I demanded, looking for Clara, but my eyes were stinging, and I had to constantly blink them, attempting to flush them out with my own tears.

"_No_," she moaned, "It'll be fine. He killed Brenda."

"What? Brenda?"

"_Yes_," she squirmed and I could feel the movement, "He didn't like her the most. She wasn't...she wasn't _the_ _right_ _doll_."

"I don't get it..." I began, but again, I was pulled beneath the water. Red, more red. Crimson clouds and puffs of scarlet smoke? Am I seeing things? I couldn't tell, couldn't breath. The world was a blur.

_It's a joke, really._ I couldn't fight anymore. _These stories they tell us of happy endings._ I figured that the best way up was down, to figure out what was holding me. I pushed beneath the water, searching the murky landscape. I couldn't see the bottom; all I could see were objects, odd stones in a way. Oddly shaped. I swam deeper, unable to find what kept pulling me down, maybe it had been my subconscious, unwilling to face whatever new predicament was there to greet me at the surface. _Of pretty princesses and lovely dreams come true._ I dug one out, one of those smooth white stones, pushed the dirt from it, studied it. A broken piece of a doll's face. Dozens of dolls lined the bottom of that small inlet of water. And...photos, I could definitely see the old photos.

I stayed under until I was desperate for eye, kicking at the sandy floor and hurling myself to the freedom of air. I gasped for breath, felt the world spin out of control. I'd stayed under so long, I felt so lightheaded. And the red still stained my vision. Darker, everything was growing darker. Was the cold of the water getting to me?

"There are some fires that water can't put out," I heard Clara say from...somewhere. I rubbed at my eyes; they were stinging like mad. _La, la, ring around the rosy..._I didn't understand what she was saying, my head spinning. I tried to swim for somewhere solid, for the boathouse floor, but my hands found something soft, and rough at the same time.

"Wha..." I murmured.

"They're scars," Clara silenced me, "I was in a fire as a child. It was Mary Anna's fault. Nobody liked her. Do you know what death looks like?"

"No..." I stammered.

"It looks like a bird," Clara murmured, practically purring, "A bird soaring through the air gracefully only to slam into a pane of glass and die. They're so...fragile...they bleed so easily."

I closed my eyes, reopened them. The world, for a brief moment, was clear. I could see everything. A fire, enveloping a young girl, a bird falling to the ground, a doll shattering into so many pieces. _No ones ever happy._

_A little girl stood on a hill smiling up at no one that could be seen._

_A tiny doll, teetering on the edge of a high brick wall._

_A loving mother, a stern father, and a smiling daughter lined up in a row._

_A rushing flood, carrying away their hopes and dreams._

_A gush of blood and broken feathers floating to the earth._

_A little girl cried on a hill over no one that could be seen._

"I wish you could see what I see," Clara told me, "Then you'd know. But you'll never know...because you can't see."

"See what? Describe it to me," I pleaded, wanting to know more.

"I can't...it's not right. The fire took it all away," Clara said.

"What? What did the fire take away?" I found the wooden planks with my shaking hands, tried to pull myself out of the water.

"The fires spreading," Clara told me, "I'm sorry. I tried to stop it, but I couldn't." She was crying now, I could hear it in the break in her voice, "Words...they're all just words...I _tried_, but no one would listen to the words...or they couldn't see the words...the words within words. It's all just a game...a really...it's nothing."

"Clara, I need..."

"I'm _NOT_ Clara!" she snapped. I shook my head, tried to grasp what was going on. Now she wasn't Clara? Who the hell was she then?

"Mary Anna?" I attempted.

"No...wait..." she whispered, stunned, "Brenda...Ashley...no...I am Clara. I'm Clara."

"If you love someone, let them go..." Clara mumbled. I felt the cool metal strike my head and I slipped to the wooden floor. I couldn't understand what was going on. "All children are beautiful," Clara was saying, and I felt her hands grasp my ankles, slipping me back into the water, "All capable of murder." She bent near my ear and I could feel her breath, it was cold. "A graveyard where the children play, and sing a song of death. A stone hearth where the fire burned, and now the bones are at rest. The fire's already burning, it's always been burning. Don't touch the fire...don't play with matches...I have to light the fires...they're fading, but they'll never die. They're coming back. I'll save him."

"Who?" I managed to gasp.

"But...he didn't break her."

"_Who_?"

"The doll. Not Brenda, no sir. She's dead."

"What?" I breathed, feeling my consciousness slip away.

"I want you to know something. I don't blame you. I think it was the fire. It was always the fire. It I'm going to protect him, from the fire. That's what I'm going to do. Everyone else will just suffer," Clara's hands slipped beneath my shoulders lifting me up slightly and dragging me along the wooden planks, "You'll be fine. Can you swim?"

"Yes..." I mumbled, but I wasn't aware of anything anymore.

"It doesn't matter," Clara sighed, "It won't save you. I can't save him."

"The boy...?"

"No," Clara said with finality, "He...I want to save him but...but...he killed Brenda." And that was the last moment I understood as my body slipped into the water and I was carried on the current out of the boathouse and into the open air.

-------------------------------------0

Gus fell silent, sighing slightly and closing his eyes to let the tears fall. It had all been so muddled in his head and he still couldn't see everything as clearly as he would like. He felt alone, isolated, the soft breathing of his companions nothing more then wind whistling through empty air. The memories were so confused in his head, and he wasn't certain if he could answer any of the questions that were asked of him. Ashley T. shifted slightly in the chair she was sitting in and the noise brought everyone back to attention.

"Is that...was that all?" Ashley T. asked.

"Mmm..." Gus nodded.

"Curious..." Gretchen mumbled from where she stood, her delicate fingers stroking her chin thoughtfully, her eyes closed.

"So, there are three new players to the game," Vince spoke up, "We don't know who that boy is, the him this Clara kept talking about, and then Brenda. Who's this Brenda?"

"That was the doll," Ashley Q. clarified for Vince, and everyone shot her a look of disapproval, "What? It was!"

"I think that what Gus has can clear that up for us as well," Theresa spoke up, prodding her husband gently, "Show them." Gus fumbled in his pocket, searching until he finally removed an interesting parchment, obviously having spent a time beneath the water.

"I found this...I found this in the place that I being held. It was on a table," Gus explained, handing it over to Gretchen who had crossed the room to take it. She opened the paper, frowning, flipping it over. She narrowed her eyes to curious slits then opened them wide in gross realization. She held the paper up and everyone gathered around. It was a picture of two little girls who couldn't be more than three, four years in age. The first one was easily recognizable; at least that's what they thought at first with her blonde hair and brown eyes clutching a noticeable porcelain doll. But they're eyes went wide in much the same manner as Gretchen's had when they looked to the other little girl with her brunette hair and deep brown eyes. From her face, the little brunette haired girl appeared to be Mary Anna, but she couldn't possibly be. Gretchen turned the picture over, her brow creased in concentration.

"Writing," she explained in a distracted mumble, "Blue ink. Faded, mostly washed away. They're names. Mary Anna is the first one I think..."

"And the second one?"

"Brenda," Gretchen sighed, "I can't figure out what the rest is. I could take it home, to my lab, reconstruct the message there."

"That still doesn't explain who these new players are," Vince threw up his hands in exasperation.

"I think the boy...I think that's me," TJ spoke up, swallowing back his emotions.

"That's what I thought too," Gus told him, sounding slightly perkier than he had in awhile with this confirmation of his sanity, "From some of the things she'd said." TJ was silent again though.

"I don't like all this talk about death," Francis muttered from the corner of the room he'd staked his claim on, "Or more precisely, the dead."

"And dead birds," Ashley B. put in with a pronounced shudder.

"A graveyard where children play...a stone hearth where the fire burned..." TJ mumbled.

"You got something, Teej?" Mikey asked, his face pale and his voice sickly. TJ shook his head, looking to the much larger young man.

"No...I don't know," TJ shrugged, "Not yet." The gang raised their eyebrows at their former leader. They knew him well enough to know he already a hunch, but they decided to leave it alone. He would share when he was ready.

"In any case," Gretchen made her way to the doorway, "The floodwater should have cleared by now. I'm going to see if I can get a ride with one of the National Guard back to my home and see what damage was done...if any..." She disappeared through the door.

"I'll come with you Gretchen," Mikey spoke up, following after her, "I want to know what this message says. And I still feel that none of us should be alone."

"I have...there are things...Bruce," was Ashley A.'s morose explanation as she too slipped out of the small room.

"I have to get back to my room," Ashley T. mumbled, looking to her friends, "Ashley B., Ashley Q., will one of you help me?"

"Certainly," Ashley Q. stepped forward.

"I'll go see if Ashley A. needs...well...anything," Ashley B. volunteered and they too disappeared out the door.

"Back to the maternity ward for me," Theresa laughed in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood and pulling herself up, "Come on, Gus, there's someone you need to meet and people we need to call." They made their ways to the door when Theresa paused, looking back, "Randall...do you want to come, maybe?" Randall stirred, having found himself his own secluded corner and sunk into a silent depression. He met her eyes a bit stunned.

"I...um...thanks...but I, maybe later," he told her, "I have to go check on my dad." Theresa nodded.

"I understand." Gus looked quizzically at her.

"What happened here?" he started suspiciously, but the smaller Theresa pushed him out of the room.

"I'll tell you later," she said. Randall, as well, left. The three remaining looked amongst themselves. Francis, feeling a little odd, straightened and moved slowly, hesitantly to the door.

"I'm going to go..." he said over his shoulder, leaving the room. Vince looked to TJ wearily, leaning against the wall.

"Don't you have places to be?" TJ muttered, sinking into the hospital pillow and counting the tiles on the ceiling.

"Yeah," Vince told him, "But I..." he looked down at his hands, "I was worried about you, Teej."

"You're kidding, right?" TJ snorted, "You hate me, remember?"

"I kept trying to...I gave up," Vince shrugged.

"Now's not the best time..." TJ started.

"Now's the only time," Vince snapped, "Too much time has already passed, too much time hating you...or wanting to hate you..."

"Vince, don't," TJ commanded, "I don't deserve this, not right now...not after everything I've done."

"No, I blamed you for so long for something that was never really your fault...not entirely," Vince cried, "I've ignored you for so many stupid reasons that aren't really reasons, just crappy excuses." TJ closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Vince," TJ whispered.

"No," Vince argued, "I'm the one that's apologizing, you are not taking this."

"I screwed up, Vince," TJ snapped, "You can't forgive me, you can't apologize to me! _I don't deserve it_!"

"It's not about deserving it, TJ," Vince interrupted, "It's about needing it. We both need it." Vince's voice broke, "For the longest time...for the longest time...I was searching for that part of me that I lost so long ago...I thought I could find it on my own, but I was wrong. TJ...if we're looking for the people we once were...we have to do it together."

"Vince, you don't get it," TJ choked, "You just..."

"TJ, I will always know you," Vince told him, "And I forgive you for everything you've done, and I never need to know what it is. And I...I'm sorry, for everything I've done. I want to go back, can we please...I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror again."

"I...Vince...I..." TJ closed his eyes, "I'm sorry." The door opened once again and a face slipped in.

"TJ," Mrs. Dettwieler cried, running to her son, "Are you alright? We've been searching everywhere frantically..." She thrust her arms around him.

"Mom..." TJ gasped. Mr. Dettwieler peeked in as well.

"Vince," he greeted, "You're parents are in the lobby yelling at that nurse. I think you'd better get down there." Vince nodded, making his way out the door. He paused.

"TJ," he started, "It's not worth it, hating yourself. You'll always lose that way." With that said, he closed the door and disappeared down the hallway.

* * *

Ummm....END A/N: I'm gonna be late for work!

Please excuse all grammatical and typing errors.

Thanks for reading.


	24. Sweet Memories and Facing Facts pt1

A/N: SOOOORRRRRYYY it took so long to get up, but it's a really lengthy chapter! Nearly 1000 words longer! Holy damn! I had a lot to do lately, got my driver's license (yay!) but don't think that's any indication of my age, because, I'm a little old to be getting my license...not that old...I'm not an old hag (despite what some people may say...I ain't 25!) In fact, when I told my cousin, her exact words were, "Yay, you're not a loser anymore!" Thank you, cousin (dripping sarcasm).

Thanks to EVERYONE, I finally reached 100 reviews! As a gift, I'm going to be posting a spin-off one-shot (dual songfic) that takes place somewhere in the Where The Skeletons Lie timeline. Keep your eyes peeled, I'll probably have it up tomorrow soon as I have the other song picked out. SMOOCHES!

TNPD: You reviewed the last chapter twice...you must have really liked it or forgot to say something...oh, HK...your willing to share? No duel to the death...awww....I mean, yay, they worked things out, maybe...

RavenForever: (You got your prize, right, the e-mail? just want to make sure) Now, I just have to say, don't jump to any conclusions as there is still a butt load of stuff that needs to be revealed before you can jump to conclusions.

xSpazzyx18 (sarah): What's with the change of S/N? Not that I'm complaining, I was just stunned is all. Now, I never said that Gretch and Vince weren't in love, I just said I didn't believe they were. What do I know? I'm just the author of the story? Need I say this story had a mind of its own, I've lost control. Don't forget the ones in the back and remember to floss.

mischeif-maker: I can answer none of your questions, except Waldo is NOT really there. That's how they get you, you think he's there, but he's NOT! Now, I never said the breaking of the dolls was symbolic of the murder, same goes to you as RavenForever, do not jump to conclusions. Make no assumptions until you have all the facts (which you don't). As to my age, I reveal nothing (check my bio on that subject), I can safely say I'm not the oldest, nor the youngest on HOWEVER, my writing is really no indication to my age as I've always been told I wrote at a more mature level then my age. Oh, and NEVER apologize for long reviews, just keep writing them longer and longer! I LOVE LONG REVIEWS!

pixievix: TWO REVIEWS IN A ROW, I seriously hope that this is becoming a habit. I didn't realize my story was so creepy...everything seems so obvious to me, I even already know how it end...oh well. I'm glad everyone finds it creepy, as that was my aim! And don't worry, by the time this story is over...no wait, you'll still be hella' confused!

RT, Momo-chan, and DarkAngelGuadianLight, where are your reviews for chapter 23, I can forgive Momo-chan because her reviews have always been infrequent due to her sufficiently given reason...but RT and DarkAngel...I am saddened by your lack of review....sniffles....

Music RECOMMENDATIONS! Um...Ordinary Day by Vanessa Carlton, This Life by Mandalay, or Fuck the World by the Vines...or anything you find that fits!

WOW, Chapter 24...this is 137 pages long in Word, and I type single spaced in size 10 font....long....ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 24: Sweet Memories and Facing Facts: part 1 

When Spinelli walked into her home she could already sense the tension and anxiousness. Her father, sitting on the couch flipping channels but not really watching the set straightened as soon as the door opened. Her mother, the phone hanging desperately to her ear, spun around dropping said plastic ornament in shock and upset. Spinelli herself shut the door silently, realized that she undoubtedly looked like hell, and attempted to shrug off her parents' worry and rush upstairs past them to her room.

Upon discovering that the floodwater had cleared enough for Spinelli to return to her parents' house she had left the hospital without hesitation, running the several blocks to search for the sanctuary of her childhood memories. Now, drenched in sweat, fidgeting in pain from the severe cuts and bruises incurred by her "adventure", and staring blankly to avoid eye contact with her gaping parents, she quickly found herself regretting the decision to rush to that house. She had wanted a place to cry and pretend that the harsh world outside didn't exist, and in her haste to find that place she'd forgotten that that comfort was not, and never really had been, attributed to the small two-story she'd grown up in. Privacy was not a word in her parents' vocabulary unless, of course, it was applied to them.

"Where have you been?" was Flo Spinelli's first words as she moved forward staring openly at her youngest child with question and obvious relief.

"Here and there," came Spinelli's quick response as she began to maneuver past the outstretched arms of her mother. In those arms, Spinelli knew that the trembling in her shoulders would be quite evident and the sob she'd finally broken free of would once again capture her in its torturous hold. The warmth those arms offered...Spinelli couldn't accept.

"We were worried sick, Pookie, you couldn't call?" Bob Spinelli was off the couch, the television buzzing its nonsensical dialogue in the background.

"The phone lines were down, dad," Spinelli muttered, the new obstacle, her father, now unfortunately in the way.

"They were not," Flo argued, "I just got off the phone with Wally down at the station." Spinelli grimaced. Wally had been the Spinellis' "personal friend" since the eldest son Joey was first "brought home" in his early teens for being out past curfew. What kind of curfew was nine o'clock anyways? Spinelli herself had had a few of her own run-ins with the overweight officer, her particular favorite being for vandalism when she felt the need to express her disapproval of the middle school's budget cut, in which the art and drama departments suffered the worst and the sports and cheerleading not at all. TJ, despite being on the track team, had been right beside her along with several "artsy" students that Spinelli had never really gotten along with before that moment of unified outrage. After the incident TJ was kicked off the track team, but he shrugged it off stating that it only gave him more time to be with Spinelli.

"I'm sorry, alright," Spinelli spat, squirming her way past her parents and heading for the stairs.

"Stop right there, missy," Flo snapped, "We've spent the last several hours frantically calling everyone we could get a hold of, your brother and cousins are out there searching for you as we speak, and everyone in this household has been nearly overwhelmed with worry and all you can say is a snide little 'I'm sorry'! You better march your fanny back here and give us a much better apology than that, and an explanation would be nice as well."

It was a small rant, and what with being an adult, Spinelli really shouldn't have had to undergo the lecture at all, but it was just enough. Those were the final straws that broke her proverbial back. Rickety knees gave way beneath her, pride dispersed turning to shameful tears, and she shook with the full force of an onslaught of sorrow and agony.

"I said I'm sorry..." she croaked, "Can I _please_ go?"

"_Oh Ashley_!" Flo cried out, rushing to her daughter's side, "What's the matter, Pookie?" But Spinelli wrenched from her mother's grasp, turning with dampened cheeks and pain-filled eyes.

"There's no letting it be, huh_, mom?_ This is your fault, yours and dad's and Joey's! And Vince, this is his fault too," Spinelli sobbed, "And TJ...goddamnit!"

"Hey," Bob stepped in, "I will not have you using that kind of language under this roof, young lady, not while I'm still standing. I don't care how old you are, my daughter will not be talking like that! Now you better explain just what it is you think is our fault." 

"TJ!" Spinelli cried out the answer as though that were obvious from the moment she walked in the door, "It's your fault that he doesn't want me anymore...that we're not _right_ for each other!"

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Flo demanded, confused and quite taken aback.

"It's your fault TJ broke up with me...because you and you, you're both so...so goddamned _impossible!_" Spinelli shot back.

"What? Broke up?" Flo stuttered, stunned, "I...we weren't even aware you were dating."

"Well, no shit. How could I tell you?" Spinelli screamed, "How could I let you in on _that?_ But TJ...jeez, how could I, huh?" She broke into a desperate cry, hiding her face. Bob and Flo glanced at one another, silently acknowledging that it was the mother's place to handle this.

"Ashley, why did you feel you couldn't tell us that you and TJ were dating? We love TJ like a son," Flo moved forward gently setting a placating hand on her daughter's quivering shoulder.

"Because...you're you!" Spinelli hissed, convinced that it was a sufficient reason.

"Honey, I had always hoped that you and TJ would get together, but I never pushed for it," Flo whispered, "Because I knew that the friendship you two shared was special and I didn't want that ruined. I'm thrilled that you were dating...but, I don't understand why you broke up and how it's your father and my fault."

"Obviously," Spinelli hiccupped looking up with a dangerously ticked gaze, "You would have ruined it if I ever told you! You'd make it into this cutesy crap and TJ wouldn't be able to set foot near this house ever again, let alone live down the embarrassment you'd put him through! And...god, everything Joey and Vitto would put him through...and..." her voice caught in her throat.

"That's not true. We love you, we would never do that," Flo attempted but failed in sounding the least bit credible, "That's still not a good enough reason for not telling us. You could have told us now, you live in New York, we couldn't 'ruin' anything for you there."

"Jesus, mom," Spinelli cried, "You really have no idea! _I couldn't tell you_!"

"Why? I fail to see any..."

"_Because,_ TJ and I _live together!_" Spinelli shouted, her temper aroused, her misery biting bitterly at her heart. It took Bob and Flo a moment to put two and two together. But, boy, when they figured it out, it was as though no time had passed when Bob exploded.

"_What?_" he exclaimed, his face turning a bright red, little flecks of spit flying from his mouth, and his nostrils flaring, "You _what?_" Spinelli smirked, ironically satisfied with being proven right that her parents would, in a word, freak when they found out that little secret.

"Now, calm down, Bob," Flo attempted, though her eyes were fluttering slightly, and her voice was a bit choked. The skin around her lips had turned a noticeable bone white, "Ashley knows are feelings towards premarital relations and I highly doubt that she would go behind our backs..." Spinelli snorted in detest.

"We _share_ a bed," Spinelli put in all too eagerly and, rather, snidely.

"But..." with all hope in the purity of her daughter flying through the window, Flo seemed to collapse within herself, "I...I...don't understand..."

"I'm twenty-five years old, _mom_, you honestly thought I was still a virgin?" Spinelli spat. Bob appeared to be boiling in his skin, his hands grasped in claws of fury.

"Where the _hell_ is that Dettwieler boy? I'm gonna kill him," Bob raged, storming towards the door, "I'll ring his little pretentious neck! I will not stand to have my daughter _shacking up with the damned boy-next-door!_"

"Dad don't..." Spinelli started, staring stunned at her father's unpredicted reaction. Flo had simply slumped on the couch, speechless, her entire face a ghastly pale. Spinelli leapt over the couch, blocking the door from her enraged father; "Dad, he broke up with me anyways..." she tried calming him. But apparently they were the wrong choice of words, only proving to infuriate him more.

"So, he thinks he can just sleep with my daughter and leave it at that! Where is my bat?" Bob hollered.

"Mom, help," Spinelli sputtered, turning on her sheet white mother, "Mommy..."

"Um...d-d-d...uh..." Flo blubbered. Mother being useless, Spinelli returned attention to her father, holding him back as he tried to move her out of his way with gentle force.

"Daddy, please..." Spinelli cried, "Don't. Listen to me, please." He paused, regarding her, and for a brief moment Spinelli thought she'd broken through to the stubborn man.

"I don't even know who you are anymore," he finally told her with a flat icy tone. Spinelli shook with those words, slipping to the ground. Dizzy, emotional, sick. She hadn't anticipated the result of this sort of action. She hadn't prepared...she hadn't handled this situation well, with the careful care that was necessary of it. "You're not my daughter," Bob continued, "I have no daughter."

"Bob," Flo finally spoke up, "Stop."

"Flo, she..."

"I know," Flo turned to her daughter, "But she's not a little girl anymore. And...and we shouldn't expect things of our children that we ourselves couldn't uphold."

"Flo...she's my little girl," Bob protested.

"And she's obviously hurting," Flo stood up, crossing the room to her daughter and wrapping her arms about the huddled form, "She needs us to be understanding no matter how she yells and tries to push us away. No matter what she's done, we can't turn our backs on her in this obvious moment of need" Spinelli buckled into that embrace, slipping into the sweet recognizable scent of her mother. There, in that hold, she could fall apart with the safe knowledge that her mother would gather up the broken pieces and reassemble her once more. There was the place that she could cry. And she did. She let her wounds flow from her body in those tears, let her body slip into a relaxed shapeless mold, sunk into the warmth that reassured her that in the end she would be alright, that the world was a truly bleak and cold place, but those arms were the welcoming shelter to protect her from that harsh environment. She'd longed for that hold for so long, she just hadn't realized it.

-0-0-0-0-

Ashley A. strummed her fingers against the polished white counter top, her cell phone pressed firmly to her cheek, her eyes closed. Ashley B. stood beside the blonde woman studying her nails decorated with chipping yellow paint. She had a bad habit of biting them, and it showed as she raised her thumb to her lips, chewing thoughtfully at the hard enamel.

"You're not listening to me," Ashley A. whispered in the phone, "Bruce is dead." She paused, glancing up at her friend with a sad smile. She'd been on the phone with her husband, who happened to be on business in Paris, for the past half hour and showed no sign of the conversation ending. "Of course I'm not alright," she snapped into the phone, "Bruce is dead, don't you understand! No, I won't calm down!" She slumped to the counter top despite a disapproving glower from the secretary, "I'm sorry, honey, I'm just...stressed. Why shouldn't I be upset that Bruce is dead? He was my driver...my employee, he was my friend!" Ashley B. looked to the blonde woman with awe. Had she just called the hired help "friend"?

Jumping back from the counter in shock, Ashley B. realized her own phone was ringing. She saw Ashley A. wrapping up conversation she was having, saying, "good-bye" and "I love you, too." Ashley B. dug out her cell phone, clicking it on and lifting it to her ear.

"Hello?" she said into the phone.

"Ashley," came an all too familiar voice. Tapping her foot impatiently, nervously, Ashley B. fought the urge to hang up the phone, fought the rising bile of disgust, and fought the anger and emotions and tears.

"What do _you_ want?" she demanded of the man on the other end of the line.

"I wanted to talk about this divorce nonsense," the man pressed, "I want you to come home, baby."

"I'm not your baby," Ashley B. spat a little louder than she'd intended and receiving a curious glance from her friend who was putting away her own cell phone, "It's going through. I don't care what you think or how you feel about it," she continued, dropping her voice level a few decibels, "I'm tired of dealing with your bullshit."

"Don't you love me anymore?" Ashley B. covered her eyes with an errant hand, shaking her head slightly and letting the tears struggle down her cheeks. It wasn't a matter of loving her husband, Donald, or Donny as she had once fondly called him. It was a matter of the strain, the pain he caused her and the devastation he wrecked on her finances.

"I don't want to talk about this right now," she muttered.

"You do love me still, baby girl, and you know it. You can't fight it, that's why I don't understand all this shit about a divorce," Donny continued, despite Ashley B.'s attempt to get him off the phone.

"Yeah," Ashley B. hissed malignly, "And you love my wallet and how nicely it supports your addictions." She slammed the cell phone shut, stuffing it vehemently into her pocket and with a maelstrom of frustration beat her balled up hands against the counter top with a silent scream, tears sprinkling against her hands and the counter.

"Ashley B.?" Ashley A. spoke up, gently touching her shoulder, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah..." Ashley B. blubbered, "I'm fine."

"No," Ashley A. told her hushed, "You're my best friend, and I know when you're not fine." Slipping an arm over her shorter friend's shoulders she led her from the counter to the plush chairs lining the lobby, which was quickly emptying what with the storm being over.

"I'm sorry, Ashley A.," Ashley B. sobbed, "I'm just...like, so overwhelmed."

"Tell me about it," Ashley A. prodded, "I'm listening."

"I can't...I just..." she shook her head, "It's Donny."

"Your husband? What's wrong with him? Is he alright?"

"Yes, he's fine, but we're not. We're not fine, we haven't been fine for a long time," Ashley B. cried silently, "He's dried up my trust fund for one thing, he has no job...he...I'm sorry. Everyone, you and all the other Ashleys, you'd be so ashamed of me. You all have perfect marriages...everything, and me; I'm like, so un-Ashley like. I've, like, totally trashed the Ashley name."

"Ashley B.," Ashley A. clucked soothingly, chuckling softly, "The other Ashleys and me don't have perfect marriages," she laid her head against her friend's arm, "We just don't talk about it...I guess that's why everything's so wrong in our lives. It would, like, so trash the Ashley name if you didn't tell me what was wrong and I didn't help you solve it."

"Thanks, Ashley A., you, like, always know what to say," Ashley B. sighed, "But, I mean, I just heard you on the phone with your husband. All the 'I love you's' and everything...you can't tell me your marriage isn't perfect..."

"Can I let you in on a secret?" Ashley A. interrupted and Ashley B. nodded thoughtfully, "Sergio can't...we can't have children." Ashley A.'s eyes glazed over with sadness, "I know it sounds...well, not like me, but I always wanted to have a small litter of brats...maybe a little girl that I could groom to be the heir to the Ashley name. My chances of having that...well, let's just say, I have no chances of it."

"But, I thought..." Ashley B. looked her friend over, silently taking in this new information. Ashley A. had never expressed a motherly want, or anything pertaining to "bumps" in her marriage.

"I was pregnant once," Ashley A. went on guessing what Ashley B. was hinting at, "I know I told you guys that it was an error...in the pregnancy test...but I lied." She choked on those words, tears springing to her primly mascara-ed eyes, "I...I was pregnant. There had to have an abortion. You see...Sergio has a low sperm count, and I...my body can't carry a child into the third trimester so..." 

"Oh, Ashley A., I'm so sorry!" Ashley B. cried, thrusting her arms about her friend's neck, "I had no idea. An abortion...that must have been horrible." She nodded, attempting to smile through the choking tears.

"It nearly tore Sergio and me apart...we both blamed one another. We were separated for almost five months...he'd gone back to live in Italy and I had my apartment in Malibu. I was going to name the child...it was going to either be Hunter, if it was a boy, or...if it was a girl...I was going to name her...Ashley..." Ashley A. could barely get the words out past the rising lump in her throat, "One day, though, Sergio showed up on my doorstep. He'd heard that I hadn't left my home in weeks..." she brightened at the memory, "He dragged me out of bed and threw me, fully clothed, into a cold shower. He told me that it was time for us to talk...that he was my husband and I was his wife and that we had to stop hating ourselves and work out our differences," Ashley A. giggled somewhat giddily at that, "And we talked. Sergio's always been like that...my constant...my little reminder that the world can be a lot better place if you just smile and enjoy life."

"There's no talking for Donny and me," Ashley B. sighed, "We've nothing to talk about. We're over, and it's time he accepted it."

"There's always talking," Ashley A. put in, "You have to try."

"We've used up all our conversation time," Ashley B. shook her head, "He's a deadbeat, Ashley A. And...he uses my money on alcohol and more importantly, drugs."

"Drugs...Donny uses drugs," Ashley A. mumbled, shock evident on her pristine face. Ashley B. nodded, lowering her head in shame.

"Not often, mostly heroin, usually when he's partying with his friends," she spat out the word "friends" like a cheap wine brand, "We , about money, and his lifestyle, and...I can't even remember everything, all the little trivial things. He started getting drunk at home...when he'd get drunk, he'd get violent. He started getting jealous too. If I even so much as spoke to another man..."

"Ashley B.," Ashley A. murmured, stunned by this new revelation into the nightmare that was her best friend's marriage. It seemed to encourage Ashley B. to go into some of the more...unpleasant details.

"One night he was so wasted...I came home late, really late at night, and he threw me to the wall and started choking me, telling me he was going to kill me...that he thought I was prostituting myself or something...I don't know. The next morning he'd forgotten it entirely, and I forgot it...I thought it was just a one-time thing, that I could forgive him because I loved him. But it got worse...

"He'd throw me to the ground, spit in my face, call me a tramp or something equally degenerating. It was always when he was drunk and he never seemed to remember what he'd done...so I decided to take the alcohol away, which meant cutting him off from my money. He started stealing from my purse. He got a hold of one of my credit cards and charged to it nearly fifty thousand on God knows what. That's when I confronted him about it, told him he was going to have to change his act or get the hell out of the house." Ashley B.'s face contorted with the memory of that night, sadness crossing her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks more freely, "He thought it was a joke. I told him it wasn't. He slapped me, it was the first time he'd ever actually _hit_ me, the first time he'd attacked me when he was sober. It didn't stop with one slap though...he kept beating me until I couldn't move..." her bottom lip trembled, "Then he dragged me into the bedroom shouting that I was his wife and his property and...he pounded himself into me." She flinched as though the words stung as they rolled off her tongue, "I woke up with him blacked out next to me. I went into the kitchen - though I could barely move - and grabbed a knife...

"I came into the bedroom," she continued, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as though trying to block out the image playing in her mind, "Stood over him with that knife in my hand...I wanted to kill him, drive that knife into him over and over..." she shook her head, shaking, "I wanted him to know what it felt like for me that night, having something rip into your body...but I...I dropped the knife in horror. I could barely breathe," her voice trembled, shaking, questioning, "I was sickened by those thoughts...I had...I had wanted to kill my own husband. I remembered Mary Anna...thought for just a moment, I'm already a murderer aren't I? I'd wanted to kill him in cold blood! That's when I knew...I knew I had to get out of there. I called up a friend, asked her to come pick me up. She took me to the hospital and...the next day I filed for divorce."

"Ashley B., I...I'm sorry," Ashley A. whispered throwing her arms around the battered and pained young woman, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry you didn't think you could tell me."

"It's alright Ashley A.," Ashley B. assured her, "It's over now."

"No, it's not alright," Ashley A. told her, "That bastard...I could kill him...even if you couldn't. Nobody disrespects an Ashley that way!" Ashley A. pressed the hair from Ashley B.'s face, brushing her lips against Ashley B's forehead and they sat in an embrace, comforting one another's wounded hearts, "I'm going to be there for you completely from now on...I'm going to be there for all of the Ashleys from now on. We'll shake the world to its knees goddamnit!" Ashley B. chuckled and the two young women found themselves in a fit of giggles.

"We'll take the world on..." Ashley B. joined in, "The way we should have a long time ago."

"Right! And we'll exact punishment on those who deserve it all while color coordinating their outfits!"

"We'll start with Donny, 'cause boy does he need a fashion make-over!"

"A total attitude adjustment!"

"He needs to learn to tremble under the wrath of the Ashleys!" They grinned at one another.

"SCAN-DA-LOUS!" And were once again overtaken with a fit of giggles.

-0-0-0-0-

Randall slipped into his father's house, navigating his way through the discarded beer bottles and small piles of trash. The flood hadn't reached the small split-level and for that Randall was somewhat grateful. Though sometimes he did wish a flood would overtake the small house and wash it away. His father hadn't even seemed to notice his absent, still sitting on the couch watching the television and holding onto an empty bottle of Budweiser.

"Will you look at that crap?" Mr. Weems muttered to his son, as an acknowledgment of the young man's return, "These people don't know what they're talking about...the reporters they hire these days..." The set was tuned in on the news, one of the few shows the elderly man watched, it was either that or Magnum P.I. Mr. Weems imagined that he was Magnum some days, telling Randall inventive, and undoubtedly delusional stories of a youth spent as a private investigator. Randall, however, knew that Mr. Weems had been a mailman, now "enjoying" retirement.

"Yeah dad," Randall nodded, having only paused a moment before pushing his way to the kitchen. He stopped, looking over a picture stuck on the small thirty year old, olive green refrigerator. He smiled sullenly, "Hi mom," he whispered in greeting of the smiling portrait of the beautiful brunette young woman. "I was at the library again today...sitting in your spot, reading your favorite book. I didn't get to finish it though...there was a fire." He traced the image reverently, his smile fading away to a look of focus and concentration. "I'm sorry," he told the picture finally before shaking from its trance and opening the fridge in search of a beer. He was always apologizing to that portrait. Somebody had to.

"That's a load of shit and you know it!" Mr. Weems screamed at the television and Randall winced. His search ended and he downed half the bottle in one quick slide down his throat. He shook his head, more used to the bitter taste than he would have liked to be. He snuck to the back porch, frowning at the mess. His father was a packrat in a way; never throwing away anything even after it broke or became useless and obsolete. In a way, those objects reflected the old man, useless. There was a rusted old lawnmower in the middle of the overgrown weed of a backyard lawn, the grass itself was all dried out and dead, being the only weed the Weems family couldn't manage to grow. There was a pile of beer cans that never quite made it to the recycle bin to one side of the house, a broken bike, a rotting cardboard fort, a dust covered sofa, a plastic child swimming pole with a hole torn in the bottom, an ancient teddy bear, and so many other discarded remnants of various forgotten objects. It was an obsessive-compulsive man's nightmare, but Randall seemed to overlook it simply because he'd grown up in that mess.

Making his way over to a pile of abandoned handy-man projects, and with a purposeful stride, Randall knocked over one of the gray cement bricks with a nudge from his foot and let a sedate smile slip across his cracking lips as he stared unsurprised at the small old package that had fallen onto the dirt clot better identified as once being grass. Plucking the package off the ground and opening it with hope-filled eyes he let the smile broaden slightly, crookedly as he stared eagerly at the white stick of paper rolled cancer, pried it from the crushed packaging and pressed it between his lips, igniting the tip of the cigarette with the flame from a silver lighter he produced from his back pocket. Shoving the lighter back where it belonged he crossed the backyard to the brick wall and pulled himself up to the ledge with ease, squatting and looking out at the open lot behind his father's house. He swung his legs to hang down the side of the wall and pulled the cigarette from his lips, banishing the withered ash to the ground and relishing the bitter sweet taste of the alcohol and smoke dancing along his tongue. For a rather rare moment, Randall allowed himself to relax, willing the tension in his muscles to slip away with each puff of his cigarette and each swig of the beer.

Sometimes...sometimes...Randall imagined that he could jump over that ledge to the lot on the other side. And he'd pretend, in his mind, that the empty lot was a passage to another world, another life and if he ran hard enough, fast enough, he could escape the life he so desperately wanted to leave behind.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ stood in his room weakly, having sent his parents away disdainfully. He was grateful for their fussing, yes, but it was too much...too overwhelming. He couldn't handle it. What's more, he didn't deserve it. They shouldn't waste their worry on him, he'd told the wide-eyed couple, he dug himself his own mess. It was the people he left behind in the wreckage that deserved his parents' concern. He gripped the corner of his desk, steadying himself from a rush of blood spinning to his head, his eyes blanketed with black. Regaining his composure, he focused in on the red hat hung lazily over the back of the desk chair. He stumbled the few feet over to it, and in his condition it wasn't an easy move.

That red cap was magic to TJ. It held in its very seams a world of adventure and memories that, as his fingers laced around it, flooded into his mind's eye. Plans, mistakes, laughter, pranks, detention, time-outs, kickball games, Saturday morning cartoons, paper airplanes, spit wads, an entire childhood spent with the best of friends. Trembling, TJ set the hat down on the desktop, shocked at how much it affected him, the past that is. He closed his eyes. People he cared about were in danger. People who had learned to always rely on him, and yet...he was failing them one moment at a time, one mistake after another.

_It's not worth it, hating yourself. You'll always lose that way._ TJ frowned. What had Vince meant, coming in that room and saying all those things? Did he really expect things to better, just like that? TJ ran his fingers along the brim of his red hat, frowning and concentrating entirely on the slow movement of his shaking appendage. Vince had spent the past fifteen years hating TJ, not the other way around. TJ had only just begun hating Vince, and that was simply because of...TJ looked away, closing his eyes. Spinelli. _Don't call me that. You can't call me that._ He hadn't seen so much hurt, so much anger and pain along her face, burning in her eyes. It was enough to make TJ hate himself, want to hurt himself just to feel the pain, even so much as kill himself in hopes of even easing her misery slightly...

TJ shook those thoughts from his mind. Felt the tears dripping down his cheeks. He wiped them away, embarrassed. He heard the door open behind him, and fought the urge to verbally assault the intruder for not knocking.

"TJ?" the voice was one TJ hadn't heard in a long time. He reluctantly spun around, staring at that round face with the dirty blonde curls wisped around soft blue eyes. "Hey, little brother. What's going on?"

"Becky?" TJ questioned, looking the young woman up and down. He hadn't seen her in a long time, and was oddly stricken confused with this need to hug her and greet her warmly. This, his older sister, who'd tormented him, and equally tormented back throughout his life. She was slightly shorter then him now, he'd finally passed her up in height; which was somewhat pleasant to know. She hadn't been cursed to the extent TJ was with the Dettwieler freckles, and her body had rounded out nicely into a voluptuous feminine figure.

"You look like you've been through hell and back, T-Jerk," she grinned. Even TJ had to let a smile press across his lips at the teasing nickname she'd given him such a long time ago. "You never call," she mumbled, the grin fading, "Or write."

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Yeah...well, you really are a jerk," she told him, slapping his arm, "Almost dying today." It took TJ a moment to register the tears streaming down his older sister's face, to understand that those tears were for him. Without hesitation, his arms slipped around the young woman pulling her into a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "It's alright. I'm alright."

"Who would I tease if you were gone?" she went on, her words catching, "You're my baby brother, TJ..." TJ felt a deep ache in his heart that he didn't recognize, as Becky's arms sidled around his waist and her tears seeped through his shirt. It hadn't occurred to him, how much some people cared for him. Did he really deserve this affection? "What would I do if we lost you?" she whispered, sniffling. _It's not a matter of deserving._ TJ pulled away gently, and with a steady hand, wiped away his sister's tears.

"You shouldn't bother with me," he assured her, "Remember, I'm the pain in your side?" She smiled through the tears, snorting softly. They were silent.

"I heard you and Spinelli broke up," Becky finally whispered. TJ winced.

"Mom and dad sure have big mouths," he muttered.

"I heard it from Joey," she told him, "Mom and dad wouldn't tell me anything, said I had to ask you about it. Joey said that...that you...is it true?" TJ looked away, running his hand through his hair. "Don't," Becky commanded him, "Don't act like that. Look at me and answer me." He refused and she grabbed the sides of his face, roughly pulling him to look at her. "Whatever happened to my cocky brat of a brother?" TJ shrugged.

"You're hurting my face," he informed her quietly.

"Tell me," she pressed, pinching his cheek.

"Stop," he squirmed, "Fine...what do you want to know?"

"Why did you break up with Spinelli? Did you...did you really sleep with someone else?"

"I was drunk when I...well...don't remind me of that," TJ shuddered, fighting the disgust and illness washing over him. It had only intensified with the knowledge of who exactly he had slept with, "I just..." pulling from his sister's grasp, TJ crossed the room to his bed, slumping on it, "I never understood why Spinelli was with me, what she saw in me. When I saw her...with Vince, I realized how nicely they matched, how right they looked together. I couldn't take it anymore, all right. She's...and I'm...I don't deserve her; she should be with someone she fits with, someone that's right for her. I'm not right for her."

"And how exactly did you reach this conclusion?" Becky inquired, her brow bunched up in a pile of wrinkles from obvious confusion.

"Well, have you seen us together?"

"Yes," Becky said firmly, "And I've never seen a more perfect couple."

"But look at me..."

"I am looking at you," she whispered, "I asked Spinelli once..." Becky continued, taking a seat next to TJ on the bed, "Why she'd chosen you, when I knew that there were some hot guys at your school that wanted to date her. Hell, there were hot guys at my school that wanted to date her." TJ grimaced at that comment.

"What'd she say?" TJ asked, not certain he wanted the answer, his stomach lurching in a horrid knot.

"What do you think she said?" Becky retorted, pausing for a moment but continuing when there seemed no chance of TJ answering the not-completely-rhetorical question. "She said she didn't even notice any other guys existed to date. Which trust me, I found shocking. The point is TJ, what you see in the mirror isn't what Spinelli's sees in you. She's loved you her whole life, how could you possibly doubt her now?" TJ rubbed his forehead furiously, warily.

"I love how everyone keeps telling me what I mistake I made," TJ muttered, "Now will someone please tell me how to fix this damn mess!" Becky smirked, pulling herself off the bed and walking over to the desk. She paused, turned to face him and motioned for him to come over; which he obliged suspiciously.

"I don't know, TJ," Becky finally told him when he stood in front of her, "But I'm sure you'll come up with something," in one swift movement she slipped the red hat atop his head, grinning up at him when it sat in place. He smirked slightly, adjusting the cap to fit his head and turning it backwards as he was accustomed to. Becky placed her hands on his shoulders and, giving him a quick hug around his neck and a peck on the cheek, she left the room. Calling over her shoulder, "I'll be downstairs. Get in bed, you're sick!"

TJ touched the brim of his cap, went to run his hand through his hair and stopped, realizing he couldn't. Smiling serenely, he felt a slight confidence take a hold on him, and, feeling slightly dizzy, he decided to heed his sister's advice, slipping beneath his covers and, with his head leaning against the headboard, closed his eyes.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli made her way, shakily up that staircase she knew so well, tracing every nick in the wood with an eased hand. She held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest, and frowned at the soft-carpeted floor at the top of the stairs.

Despite her mother's protests, Spinelli had decided to make the short trip four houses down to the Dettwieler residence to retrieve her bags. Standing on the porch, fidgeting slightly and knocking gently, she had time to regret her decision. However, when the door swung open, she had no time to rectify the choice she'd made. She was surprised to see Becky standing in the doorway, looking down at her with a pitying eye and a soft smile. Without asking for reason or explanation, Becky had widened the door and stepped back, allowing Spinelli inside and directing her upstairs. Which was now exactly where Spinelli stood.

She'd hoped for a moment that her bags were still outside of TJ's room where they'd left them what seemed an eternity ago during their brief fight in that exact spot. But the bags were gone and there was only one possible place for them to be. Spinelli made her way towards TJ's room, recalled the painful memory of happily standing beside him in front of the door the day they'd arrived at the house, and brought a quivering hand up to knock. She waited, and when no one answered, opened the door and entered.

The room was dark; it was late after all. Spinelli flicked the light switch and her eyes fell on the form lying silently in the bed staring up at the ceiling. For a moment, everything seemed silent, moving in slow motion. Her stomach was twisting within itself, her head spinning, and she seemed incapable of thought. She assumed she was dead for a moment, because that was the only rational answer for her heart stopping the way it did. She was already dead on the inside anyhow.

"I doubt you're here to talk," TJ finally said, not even so much as glancing at her. He looked like his old self, the red cap securely in place on his head, wearing a white t-shirt and large jeans and dirty white socks. He'd kicked the covers to the foot of the bed and was rubbing his arm nervously. He looked slightly dazed, his back pressed against the headboard of the bed, his eyes searching for...for something.

"Where are my bags?" Spinelli asked, suddenly finding her voice. TJ looked to the corner of the room where the bags were piled unceremoniously together, hers with his. She crossed over to the bags, bending and attempting to sort through them, praying it didn't take too long because she could already feel her tears returning.

"I'm sorry," TJ said. Spinelli clicked her tongue, chewing her lower lip in frustration.

"You don't want me to forgive you, so stop apologizing!" she snapped.

"I'm not apologizing for that," TJ told her. She paused from her work, leaning back and sitting on the floor, indicating that she was listening, and did she ever want to hear this. What else could he _possibly_ have to apologize for? He continued, "I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I thought...I wondered how could anyone want to be with someone like me? Someone who looks like me?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spinelli bit.

"Every time I looked in the mirror...I just never wanted to see _me_ in that mirror," TJ tried to explain, "I'm fat."

"You're not fat," Spinelli interrupted, "You're soft...."

"Flabby's more like it..." TJ put in, "And...my hair is always a mess...and these freckles."

"I love your freckles, Teej," Spinelli muttered, staring blankly at the bags, tears streaming down her cheeks. How come he never told her all of this before; that he felt like this way?

"Well, how could you ever stand to look at me? Be in bed with me..." TJ mumbled. Spinelli closed her eyes, enraged.

"I didn't think it mattered what we looked like," Spinelli enunciated each word in a hiss.

"Well it wouldn't matter for you, I mean...you're beautiful." He whispered the last part and Spinelli blushed slightly. Beautiful was pushing it, she thought.

"Beautiful?" she snorted in disgust, "I'm a tomboy, Teej," she argued, "Some days I just roll out of bed and don't even bother brushing my hair and I go throughout the day like that! Sometimes I'm too lazy to look for clean clothes so I wear the same thing I wore yesterday...even if there's a stain on my shirt," she choked on her words, all the flaws she'd noticed about herself, spent hours thinking about and wondering if TJ thought about them or noticed them, "I'm small...short..." Spinelli closed her eyes, squeezing out any liquid in them that had been threatening to spill anyways, "I never really filled out like a woman should have...I still have this boyish figure..._my boobs are non-existent_!" She buried her face, reminded of Clara. "_She_ was well endowed," Spinelli spat and TJ didn't bother asking who "she" was, he already knew, "I bet she rolls out of bed and every strand of hair is already perfectly in place and her face is probably already primly powdered." Spinelli suddenly shot up to her feet, grabbing one of her bags indignantly, not caring which bag it was. For all she knew, it could simply be holding all her socks and underwear. She made her way to the door.

"I'm sorry," TJ repeated, more softly, "I'm sorry you thought that it mattered to me...that I thought it mattered to you..." he closed his eyes, breathing sharply, "If you think I liked Clara's body, you're wrong. I don't know why I did what I..."

"I'm not going back to New York," Spinelli interrupted, and TJ fell silent, "I'm going to stay with my parents for the rest of the school semester, I'll drop out of my classes. Maybe...maybe I'll go back next semester, get a dorm room." Spinelli touched the doorknob, fiddled with it slightly before turning it and beginning to step out. TJ seemed to be contemplating these words, thinking them through. It didn't really surprise him; it made sense after what he'd done that she wouldn't want to return with him. Even though a part of him had thought that when they returned to New York it would be as though nothing in that small town had ever happened, that their lives in New York would be untouched.

"I need you to do something for me," he called to her and she snorted softly, turning back in the room, fury burning in her red-rimmed eyes.

"You're really the last person who deserves any favors from me," she spat.

"I know...but you're the only one who can do it...the only one they'll all _really_ listen to," TJ whispered. Spinelli raised an eyebrow.

"I know that look," she told him silently, "Say it." TJ nodded, meeting her eyes for the first time since she'd entered the room.

"I have a plan."

* * *

END A/N: YAY, TJ has a plan! Now be honest, who shouted a whoop of glee upon seeing those words written on the screen? Anyone...ah...well...maybe it was just me... 

Ah...how sad, the lives of the Ashleys. Isn't it fun? Everyones starting to revert back to themselves...wonderful! I couldn't find a way to end the Ashleys' segment but then it hit me...a spouting of their infamous catchphrase to...well, get whatever symbolism you want out of that, as well as TJ's redonning of the hat. I was torn between who should place that hat on TJ's head, and originally it was going to be Spinelli...but...well, that idea was shot, several times in fact. Ah...Randall, I'm glad so many people are liking his persona. I'm actually considering doing a spin-off for Randall, because his life is just beginning to really interest me.

Now, a little lesson on Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (a.k.a OCD). Perhaps the most well-known OCD suffering character as of right now would have to be Monk (the defective detective). I imagine you're all saying, well, WHY does Randall do "this" or "that" if he suffers from OCD and you think of how Monk would NEVER do "this" or "that". Keep in mind that while Monk suffers from OCD, he is also a sufferer of almost any kind of phobia you can think of while Randall, is not. OCD is attributed with the sufferers "need" to do something...usually associated with numbers (Randall's affinity for even numbers as well as things that'll be evident later on in the story). Most serial killers suffer from OCD among other things (mostly sociopathy!). Yup..they have a need for neatness, and live by the ideal "A place for everything and everything in it's place". I don't claim to be an expert on OCD, these are just things I know. Does anyone remember the show on Nickelodeon "Truth or Dare"? Yeah, the host of that show had OCD. Can you imagine working on that show with said disorder? Fun facts!

Now, yes, Randall smokes and drinks. I do not by any means condone smoking, it is a dirty habit, but it fits Randall's character. Eh? What was that? What about drinking? Er...don't drink and drive! And, about his mother, I'm playing on the fact that the series never showed a mother for Randall, though his father was shown (looked like an older version of him).

Yup, that's about it...er...IF YOU READ ALL OF THAT, please go forth and _**REVIEW**_. YAY. That means you Momo-chan, RT, and DarkAngelGuadianLight! Okay, thanks.

THANKS for Reading, and please excuse any grammatical or typing errors. LOTS OF LOVE! Ja ne!


	25. Sweet Memories and Facing Facts pt2

A/N: Wow-wee! Chapter 25 and still going strong!

Did everyone read the gift fic for all you wonderful reviewers who helped get me to 100 reviews? Hmm...I didn't see xSpazzyx18(xXxSarahxXx) on the review board...GO READ IT EVERYONE!

Thanks to all the reviewers:

TNPD: Thanks. You should get your liscense, it's freeing really. I can drive myself to work now and the book store and other places...I liked the interaction between Spin and her parentals as well. I liked writing it. I already had planned how they'd react...for 20 something chapters I was holding that moment in...you can imagine how the ending is bubbling in my tummy.

RavenForever: Yes. I am evil. Which will become more evident with each passing chapter. And yes. Smoking is bad. But Randall lives a horrible existence. Let him have a cigarette every now and then. And no. I personally never saw all the Ashleys getting themselves in screwed up marriages. They're too smart and have too much respect for themselves, which a _lot_ of fanfic writers do tend to overlook.

RT: All good things must come to an end. But your reviews are good things that should never come to an end! I will accept your reason for now, but the sniffles still remain.

DarkAngelGuadianLight: I understand...school's a pain. But please...please...keep up with reviews, I miss when my reviewers don't send word.

mischeif-maker: YAY! Another awesomely lengthy review. A detective? A psychiatrist? I'm a writer. And a good writer is all of those things. Your compliments are overwhelming and sooooo greatly appreciated. I'm glad you like my chacterizations of everyone. As to TJ, no one likes a hero that's perfect at everything. And it's nice that someone else was so overcome with joy when TJ said those words, it wasn't just me. And yes, I do watch anime, I love anime, I live anime, I can spend hours just watching anime. It's a surprise I'm not surfing the anime section as opposed to the Recess section, a huge surprise I ain't posting Gundam Wing fics, because those are my favs. I did glance over one of your fanfics once, it was well written, but I'm not hugely versed in Yu Yu Hakusho, and I am really stuck on writing my fic. I gotta finish it before I go bonkers. I may write a review...someday, so keep your eyes peeled.

Sarah (because it's easier to type): You're forgiven, so long as you keep up with your loyal reviews. That's an interesting form of OCD. Personally, I think everyone has a slight case of OCD, simply things that become habit. I know I got a lot of things...though, they're mostly paranoia type things. Err...that made no sense.

A follow-up to my little Finster/Mrs.Dettwieler connection game. Do you know what strikes me? You all know (I'm taking a huge assumption here) that Katie Segall is the voice behind Mrs. Flo Spinelli. Now, is it just me, or has anyone ever noticed how Flo looks a great deal like Peggy Bundy, the role that Katie Segall is perhaps most well known for? Like Peggy, Flo wears skin tight clothing, spandex high-waters, and high-heels (though not as high as Peggy's). Her hair is also done up the same, though Flo has brown hair and Peggy had red. Flo also wears a headband, which was sometimes seen in Peggy's hair. She kind of looks like a diluted Peggy Bundy. Am I crazy, or has anyone else ever seen this connection?

Music recs...hm....Crystal Village by Pete Yorn, Here is Gone by The Goo Goo Dolls (again?), and...hmm....and Ordinary Day by Vanessa Carlton. Or, In Bloom by Nirvana.

Oi....just thought you'd all want to know what an idiot I am. I forgot one of the characters...glad I caught it! Yup yup...I know one of you guys would have caught it, my money was on RavenForever, but I caught it first!

That's all folks...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 25: Sweet Memories and Facing Facts: part 2 

Theresa led her husband through the maternity ward to the nursery. In the few hours she'd been in the hospital she already had the layout memorized. Her husband whimpered slightly and she squeezed his hand, reminding him that she was there. Gus had been silent since he'd revealed the information of his capture. He seemed almost...almost afraid. Yet satisfied at the same time. He'd shared what he'd had to, he'd passed the message on in a way, and no longer was he burdened with this harrowing knowledge.

Theresa felt the recognizable tug at her arm as her husband stopped dead in his tracks. She turned, gave him a questioning look.

"What's the matter, Gus?" she asked, fear edging in her voice. He wasn't breaking down again was he? Those memories weren't too much for him, were they?

"I'm sorry," Gus mumbled, "I can't."

"Can't what, sweetheart?" Theresa asked, wrapping her arms around him.

"I can't see my child," he explained.

"Because of your glasses?" Theresa attempted, not certain what he was getting at.

"No," Gus swallowed back choking tears, "Because of...because it's me..." He buried his head against her shoulder, "Theresa," he cried, "I'm not good enough for this child! I'm not good enough for you!"

"Gus...you are..."

"No," he interrupted, tears splashing against her skin, "The perfect soldier," he half-laughed the words, "That's what I was supposed to be. The good little soldier." He pulled from his wife's arms, "I can't even protect my wife as she gives birth to my child."

"Gus...that wasn't your fault," Theresa argued, a ping of hurt entering her heart. She hadn't been thinking of how he might have felt, going on about how 'if Randall hadn't been there' and how 'great Randall was'. It hadn't occurred to her that maybe her loving husband would have preferred it had been him there and the thought of not having been there wasn't going over well with him.

"My father was a commanding officer in the military and I was supposed to follow in his footsteps," Gus choked, jabbing a finger to his chest, "I couldn't even get into the military because I'm blind as a bat! And I'm too afraid to get laser surgery, but we probably couldn't afford it anyways because I put all our finances into a failing diner that I couldn't stand to see shut down because of how much it meant to my childhood! I failed my father, I failed you, and more importantly, I failed that child sleeping in that room."

"Gus," Theresa whispered, realizing that this was a great deal larger scale than the fact he wasn't there when she gave birth to their child.

"And I failed the gang..." he sobbed, "I couldn't keep them together. You saw them all in there...still...they still can't even face each other."

"Gus, it was never your responsibility," Theresa soothed, brushing away tears flooding her own eyes, "I love you, Gus, and none of that matters to me. You never failed me; you always took care of me. We'll manage, we always do. And Kelso's isn't failing, you know that it's been doing better ever since you invested in it and started working there."

"Theresa...I wanted things to be alright again...I wanted...I wanted the gang together again..." he ran the back of his hand across his eyes, "But nothings working the way it should be. Everyone's falling apart, and now TJ and Spinelli...it's like...like our friendship never existed."

"Gus, shut up and listen to me," Theresa commanded, straightening and glowering up at the young man she loved, "You have done so much in your life, you need to stop looking back on the things you never did, or could never do! Keeping the _gang_ together was never your responsibility. They fell apart because _they _couldn't keep it together. Gus..." she slipped her hand around his neck, "Gus, you have never let me down, never disappointed me. And...there is a child behind those doors right over there who you helped create, and who I know you will _never_ let down." She took his hand, and he nodded slowly, the words sinking in.

"But...Theresa..."

"No, Gus," she hushed him, "Now...now it is time you met your little girl." She led him through the swinging white doors, smiling in greeting towards the nurse. Gus could make out the small forms moving sluggishly in the cribs, he felt his wife stop in front of one of the cribs, a child wearing pink lay before him. "Griswold, Girl," she read the placard to him, taking his hands to encompass the child.

"Mrs. Griswold," a man called to Theresa, entering the maternity ward.

"Dr. Meyer," Theresa greeted, smiling to him as he handed a plastic case over.

"This came from the optometrist's department down stairs. I sent for your husband's prescription when he came in," he explained as Theresa slipped familiar black-rimmed glasses from the case.

"Sweetie," Theresa whispered, touching Gus's shoulder and handing him the glasses. He pushed them on, the child in his arms coming into clear focus. "Gus...?" Theresa said after a moment of silence.

"I thought it was the outfit, but she's _all_ pink," Gus replied and Theresa smiled, kissing his cheek. The baby was beautiful, small, with her mother's eyes and father's nose and round face. She was so small and soft and warm, and Gus lifted her up kissing her gently and grinning. She smelled sweet as well.

-0-0-0-0-

Ashley Q. handed the bottle of water over to Ashley T. and picked up a hairbrush.

"You don't have to," Ashley T. told her, taking a sip of the water as Ashley Q. ran the brush through her knotted brown locks. "I must look a wreck," she whispered, running a hand subconsciously along her burn scars, "I guess I should get used to it."

"You look beautiful, Ashley T., as always," Ashley Q. reassured her, "You shouldn't worry." She swatted Ashley T.'s hands away from her face, "Even if your husband does mind, he wouldn't leave you over scars would he?"

"Ricky's blind," Ashley T. whispered, her hands trembling violently atop the white hospital blanket. Ashley Q. paused in her working through her friend's hair, shocked. She hadn't met Richard Blathers simply because Ashley T. had never introduced him to any of the Ashleys. A fear entered her heart.

"You're ashamed of him?" she questioned. Could Ashley T. be _that_ shallow?

"No," came the quavering response, "He's ashamed of himself. He sees with his fingers," she ran her hands along her face again, "What'll he see now?"

"You never talk about Ricky," Ashley Q. mumbled, attempting to change the subject. She couldn't really tell Ashley T. how her husband would react because she didn't know him. "I'm surprised you're telling me now."

"So am I," Ashley T. shrugged, folding the blanket with her hands, "I don't like to..."

"Why?" Ashley Q. asked, "I mean, so he's blind. What's the worse that could mean? He can't, like, compliment us on our nicely accessorized outfits? We're your best friends."

"Because..." Ashley T. swallowed hard, choking on sobs, "I didn't want you...I didn't want any of you to ruin it..."

"Ruin it?" it was hard not to hide the hurt in Ashley Q.'s voice.

"He's a professor of history," Ashley T. snapped, "He wears white socks with black suits, vertical stripes with horizontal ones," tears were streaming down her cheeks now, "He wears cotton with polyester! He's not a guy any of _you_ would date! Ashley A. married Sergio the Italian super model hunk; Ashley B. married Donald the flyboy from L.A. streets, and _you. _You married Christopher Masters, business CEO and once coveted as the most desirable bachelor. But I married the blind Professor Richard Blathers. Maybe...maybe I did it because I never thought I could ever compare with my best friends. I had to marry a man who could never see the competition..." she felt tears streaming down her cheeks, "He used to tell me how smooth my face was...that he loved that...and now? _Now_ do you think he'll tell me that?"

"That doesn't matter," Ashley Q. tried once again, but it was no use. Ashley T. was lost in her sobs, shriveled up inside herself and Ashley Q. didn't even believe her own words. She lifted herself up, running her hand through her hair, looking to the ceiling desperately for answers, "I'm going to get food," she finally told Ashley T. before rising and leaving the room, dabbing her eyes with her fingertips and making her way down the hall to where she was almost certain a vending machine lie. She was surprised to find a familiar face there.

Francis stood in front of the vending machine, cursing softly under his breath as his dollar bill was once again rejected. He glanced up when he heard the chink of change falling into the machine, following the arm to Ashley Q.'s frowning face.

"What did you want?" she asked.

"The chips," he muttered, shoving the dollar bill into her hand to which she declined.

"On me," she pushed the buttons, and clinked her own change into the machine, glancing over the selection, "Don't you have anywhere else to go? The hospital's really not a popular hangout for healthy people."

"No, for your information, I don't," Francis snapped, accepting the chips from her, "I keep checking the news for an update on the road conditions. I would love to get out of this place," he sighed, shaking his head, "But it's no good. How is it possible for every road out of town to be blocked at the same time?" Ashley Q. shrugged deciding on the granola bar.

"Why the rush to go?" she asked, glancing at him curiously.

"Well, as much as I'd love to stay in a town unknowingly harboring a killer that wants me amongst everyone else I know dead, I have things to do," Francis spat, staring blankly at the chips in his hands, "Besides," he sighed, slumping into a nearby chair, "With TJ and all of them at each others throats, we really are screwed."

"We can, like, come up with a plan ourselves," Ashley Q. shrugged, sitting in the chair next to him, "It's not like we're incompetent or something."

"You got a plan?" Francis asked, the very idea striking him as humorous. Sure, the Ashleys were smart and always coming up with something conniving, but they were more suited for shady underhanded things, rather than the plans they were accustomed to TJ coming up with. The Ashleys planned things that benefited only them, while TJ made plans that benefited everyone. Not to mention the Ashleys' plans had a way of failing, while TJ's plans never let anyone down when it mattered.

"No," she muttered, pushing her hair behind her ears, "It's just, like, so ridiculous that we always rely on them. We're smart, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Francis slumped down in his chair, leaning hard into the plush back of the seat, "But none of us are leaders. Dettwieler was a natural born leader..."

"Ashley A..."

"Would be a tyrant in pink," Francis shook his head, "It's no use. I'm leaving first chance I get and there's really no reason for me to stay anyways."

"What about your parents?"

"They moved back to Jersey two years ago."

"Jersey?"

"Oh," Francis shifted slightly in his seat, "That's where I'm from, originally. Moved here when I was in second grade."

"I didn't know that," Ashley Q. unwrapped her bar, taking a bite of it.

"You never asked. In case you forgot, you never talked to me, especially after what happened with Mary Anna," Francis shrugged, "But why would a powder puff like yourself talk to a hustler like me?"

"Is that how you think of me?" Ashley Q. demanded, "A _powder puff?_ I suppose if I'd been more like Spinelli..."

"_You_ like _Spinelli?_"

"Yeah. You don't think I could be tough? What's it take? A few threats, a bad attitude! Maybe I should start wearing men's clothing and tear holes in my jeans," Ashley Q. snorted, "You think she's so great, maybe she is to have so many guys care so much about her when I can't even get my own husband..." She stopped, turned away.

"It's not about how she looks or how tough she acts," Francis shook his head, staring intensely at the young woman beside him, "You could never be like Spinelli, because there's only one of her. You'll never understand...you can't be like her...she's just..."

"Explain it to me." Francis paused, looked to his hands, to his feet, back up to Ashley Q.'s face. He'd never talked about Spinelli or the way he felt about her with anyone. It would be too hard to find the words, and it wasn't his place to talk about Spinelli that way. But...but then there was something inside of him, a feeling inside of him. He needed to talk about it.

"I don't know how to explain it..." he said, rubbing the back of his head distractedly, "She's just...remember in fourth grade we'd play dodge ball. She'd get this glint in her eye, and everyone knew, everyone just knew what that look meant."

"Get out of her way unless you want a ball imprinted on your face?"

"Yeah," Francis chuckled, "That's Spinelli. Sometimes...while everyone else has changed...I mean, hell, I have a feeling Randall doesn't even know how to rat people out anymore, and TJ can't make a plan to save his own ass, Gretchen's a total bitch...and _you're_ talking to me. But Spinelli? Sometimes she still gets that glint in her eye, and a smirk on her lips, and she...you just know that she will cream whatever idiot thinks to get in her way."

"And that's what you like about her?"

"No, well, it's part of it," Francis looked up, "I like that she doesn't lose herself, no matter what she does. She knows who she is and no one can take that..."

"Confidence?" Ashley Q. sighed, "That's not an uncommon trait in women."

"Yeah...I guess it helps that she rolls out of bed and looks completely gorgeous," Francis joked, laughing slightly, "Sorry. I mean; she's just easy to talk to. She doesn't play games. If you offend her, she lets you know. She doesn't hold grudges, she just pummels the hell out of you."

"Humph," Ashley Q. pulled herself to her feet, throwing away nearly half the granola bar, "And you _like_ that about her?"

"You haven't seen her smile," Francis closed his eyes, "You haven't seen her _really_ smile. She's straightforward, knows what she wants and goes out and takes it. Some people find that attractive."

"And some people find that distasteful," Ashley Q. muttered.

"What do you have against her?" Francis demanded.

"Why are you in love with her?" Ashley Q. shot back. Francis winced.

"I never said I was in love with her," he attempted, but the words faltered, "I care about her, she's a good kid."

"I don't have anything against her," Ashley Q. sighed, "But it's hard...I'm so used to getting on her case. It's easier that way. As easy as it is to brush you off as a nobody, to comment on Gretchen's style, or lack there of, in clothing, even to...straighten my make-up or flip my hair when a good-looking guy walks by. It's a force of habit." She rubbed her face with her hands, and sat cradling her head, "She's wearing a mask and you, like everyone else, don't see through it."

"What? What is that supposed to mean?" Ashley Q. met his eyes, smiling softly.

"She's not as strong as she pretends. She's breaking inside...slipping. We all are." They both started when the familiar ringing of Francis's cell phone filled the sedate hallway. He pulled it from his pocket, stared oddly at the screen.

"Speak of the devil," Francis muttered, pressing the answer button and lifting the phone to his ear.

-0-0-0-0-

Gretchen tapped her computer tower, glowering at the glowing screen and slapping Mikey's outstretched hand that reached to touch one of her many abandoned inventions. She honestly couldn't let him alone, one eye constantly following the lumbering young man as he gawked at the several mechanical contraptions scattered throughout the basement.

"What are you looking for?" Mikey asked.

"Well, I thought I could recreate the message through the indentations left from the pressure of the pen," Gretchen answered, "But there's little chance of it, seeing as how it was wet which warped the paper. Now I'm looking for trace elements of pen markings." Gretchen clapped her hands together, pushing away from the desk, and swiveling back to the monitor that was now clacking and popping up several windows, "Obsolete my on, baby, you never let me down before. Though I sure wish I had Galileo with me, he's at the lab."

"How long do you suppose it'll take?" Mikey asked. Plumping into a seat beside Gretchen.

"No idea. It could take five minutes to analyze, it could take all day. Even then, there's no guarantee that we'll have a message," she answered, tapping the keyboard, "But it's a start. I also want to run a search for this Brenda...and I think the best start is through Mary Anna. So I'm running the name."

"What're the chances that'll pull something up?" Mikey questioned.

"Slim...but it's worth a try. If all else fails we could always call Randall and see if he can use his connections with the government," Gretchen smiled at the computer screen, "Good...it's picking up the ink. There's very small traces...it wasn't all washed away...probably because the message was so old..."

"Words within words..."

"What?" Gretchen turned to Mikey curiously, "What did you say?"

"That's something that Gus said, isn't it? I was just thinking...maybe we were looking at the messages wrong...well, before. We were looking at Gus's wrong, right? His led us to the boathouse, which was where he and then TJ were being held. What about the other messages? Maybe they're all clues as to what's going to happen to us."

"I...I don't know Mikey," Gretchen shrugged then turned her attention back to the computer, "It's too long a shot. It could mean anything. Hmm...I'm not getting any hits on the name Mary Anna, but I am getting a few on the name James. Huh? Freud James? Wasn't that the name of Mary Anna's father?"

"Yeah, I think so," Mikey sat up, perking to attention, "That's odd..."

"Huh?" Both squinted at the computer screen, "He was a doll maker?" Gretchen clicked the link and the window poured text and images out of the screen. "He's retired now, but he was once revered as the greatest porcelain doll maker. He painted the dolls, did the hair, made the clothing. His first one was named Maryland, after his wife." Gretchen frowned at the screen, "He had one daughter. But this isn't right..." Gretchen scratched her neck, "It says her name was..." They jumped, the phone breaking into a frantic ring. "Oh, jeez..."

Gretchen left the computer in search of her phone, digging through the mess that was her basement lab. "I should really clean up down here," she muttered, finally finding the beige cord that led her to the phone. She pulled it to her ear, "Hello?" She looked to Mikey, "It's Spinelli," she whispered in explanation before turning her attention back to the young woman on the line, "Yeah? I guess...are you sure? Yeah, because we've got something to share with you as well. Alright, see you then." She hung the phone up.

"What was that about?" Mikey asked, noticing the confusion stricken across Gretchen's face.

"I don't know...she said to meet us at the Dettwieler residence," Gretchen shrugged, "I thought her and TJ weren't on very good terms."

"Ah, perhaps our lovebirds have reunited?"

"I don't know, but this sounds promising, almost as though we're getting somewhere."

-0-0-0-0-

Vince jogged from his house, not bothering to tell his parents where he was going. When he found them at the front counter in the office, he'd wanted to run, not confront them. They were busy threatening the secretary and questioning her capabilities and competency if she hadn't even been able to keep track of the patients walking through the hospital doors. It wasn't the secretary's fault really, she'd been flooded with people and it was hard enough boarding the crowd let alone keeping track of the names of everyone passing through the doors. Vince and the others had slipped in without even really needing to be catalogued, as they didn't need any actual medical treatment. He felt badly that his parents had no idea where he was, but they were overreacting, weren't they? He was an adult after all.

It was a surprise, nearly ramming into Spinelli as she walked down the street, and Vince didn't know whether to apologize or keep running, only faster. The temperature outside had drastically fallen and Spinelli was bundled tightly in a large leather coat, baggy jeans, an oversized sweater, and large boots that clanked as she walked. She looked swallowed in her clothes, and so much smaller. Vince had to admit, she'd had her more attractive days. She was riddled with scars and bruises and her bottom lip was swollen with a deep red slash. Her eyes appeared to have sunken in and she had large dark bags beneath them. She couldn't even muster a grimace for Vince and that worried him.

"You all right?" he began, the words were simple enough, but just getting them out seemed torture. He'd been doing a lot of thinking over the past several hours, and each moment that past deepened the anger he felt at himself and even slightly towards her. Part of him knew from the very beginning that he'd be rejected, but part of him was so angry that she hadn't even thought of his proposal. Now he was just angry that he'd seemed to push TJ and Spinelli away from one another and Spinelli blamed him almost completely.

"I'm fine," she muttered, wrapping her arms about herself and giving a cough that didn't prove to reassure Vince.

"Can we talk?" Vince asked sheepishly. He was surprised that the words made it out, that he could manage them. So much had been going through his mind and he was almost certain that speaking with Spinelli would clear everything up.

"I've got things to..." Spinelli started, then eyed him suspiciously, "This doesn't end with you kissing me again, right?" Vince nodded. "Fine. But we have to walk while we talk." She strutted forward and Vince had no choice but to follow.

"Where are we going?" he inquired, trying to keep up.

"5270 Seventh Street," she replied, "What did you want to talk about?"

"Um...well, that kiss," Vince nearly choked the word out and Spinelli flinched.

"What's there to talk about?"

"Well, I kissed you. I think there's a great deal to talk about. I mean...don't you think we should talk about it?"

"It happened, it's over."

"Well, it's not going to disappear."

"Like Mary Anna." Vince shook his head. That was an odd thing to throw in his face.

"Spinelli," he spoke up again, trying to figure out his emotions and feelings about all of this. What did he want to say? What was there to say? "I'm sorry." The words came out before he had time to understand why he felt the need to say them. And it seemed to open a floodgate; "I worked myself into a corner. I don't take back what I said; I meant it...well, most of it. I do love you Spinelli...at least, the old you. I wanted you to be the same, Spinelli, the same girl I used to know, so that I could be the same Vince."

"But I'm not the same," Spinelli muttered, somewhat angrily and a bit distractedly.

"I know that," Vince snapped, "And I know that..." he struggled with the words. It wasn't that he couldn't figure out what to say, he knew what he had to say now, it was saying it that was difficult, "I need you...I need all of you...even TJ. Maybe especially TJ." His voice cracked, tears brimming his eyes and Spinelli paused glancing up at him, her own eyes still red from all the crying she had done, "I don't know. I got to stop blaming him for everything, for my life, which I ruined not him."

"And you reached this conclusion all on your own?" Spinelli questioned a slight snidely, but still managing to sound interested.

"Gretchen and I got in a fight," Vince shrugged, ignoring the sarcasm in Spinelli's voice, "A lot of the things she said made sense. I've been looking for someone inside of you Spinelli, because I thought maybe...maybe it would help me find the person inside of me that I lost."

"You're crazy," Spinelli finally said, after a moment's deliberation, "You've lost it. There's no person inside of me, and there's no one inside of you that I can help you find." Vince rolled his eyes.

"I'm not crazy," Vince sighed, shaking his head, "I'm talking about...don't you want to get back to who you were? I'm not so jaded that I completely missed it. Spinelli, you've changed a lot more than you're letting on."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Spinelli spat, hastening her step. Vince grabbed her arm, pulled her to a halt.

"You're just like all of us Spinelli. You can't keep going like you are. So, tell me something..."

"What?" she whispered.

"Can you...can you even look at yourself in the mirror?" Spinelli ripped her arm from Vince's grasp, continuing walking. She stopped, turned to face him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"It's hard enough, Vince," she crumbled, "Dealing with everything the way it is. TJ...my parents...Mary Anna..." she shook her head, running her finger tips along the edge of her eyelashes, "Crying used to be for babies according to me," she mumbled, "Now I can't seem to stop."

"Spinelli," Vince stepped forward, not certain what it was he wanted to do.

"Do I hate myself? Is that what you want to know? My parents...they won't even look at me straight now, ever since I told them about TJ and me. And Teej...he hates himself, and I can't change that or make him see how much I love him. Maybe I'm not...maybe I'm not strong enough, or tough enough, or...good enough." Vince wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug, which, to his surprise, she didn't object to.

"I'm responsible for what happened, between TJ and you," he admitted, swallowing back the lump growing in his throat.

"No," she argued, "You're not. Not completely...what happened between us...it's been happening a long time." She pulled away, continuing down the sidewalk, "Go to TJ's house," she called over her shoulder, "I have things to take care of, but I'll be there in a little while."

"But..."

"Just go," she snapped. Vince nodded, his brow furrowed in concern and bafflement. Why was she sending him to TJ's house? They hadn't made up, had they?

-0-0-0-0-

Gretchen couldn't even begin to explain the surprise when Gus opened the door to the Dettwieler residence and greeted her and Mikey. He directed them to the den. They took seats across the couch and sat in silence for a time. Gus only rose to get the door when it was knocked upon once again. He returned with Vince.

"Why are we here?" Vince asked upon seeing the others. They looked amongst themselves, then Gretchen and Mikey narrowed in on Gus.

"I was only first to arrive," he said defensively before they could begin questioning, "I have no idea why we're here. Spinelli called at the hospital and..." he grimaced, obviously reminded of the events that happened there. No one commented on it. "I was shocked she wanted us to meet here..."

"Yeah, she called us too," Gretchen said, pointing between Mikey and herself, "Did her and TJ make up?"

"No," Vince said, shaking his head, "I don't think they did. I met her outside...we...talked," he met Gretchen's eyes, holding them for only a moment, before she turned away.

"So, we're all together again," Gus started, but was interrupted by a knock at the door, "Who could that be?" He lifted himself up, making his way to the door and returning with Francis and the four Ashleys.

"Spinelli was cryptic at best when she called," Francis began, "Why are we here?'

"Already discussed that," Mikey told them, "No idea." Another knock at the door, and the entire group followed Gus to answer it. They found Randall standing there, shooting about awkward glances.

"Huh," Gus chuckled slightly, cynically, "So, we're all here. Now where's our gracious hostess?" Another knock and Gus squinted his eyes in confusion, doing a quick mental count, "Who else would be coming here?" Again, everyone followed him to the door and he opened it, finding two young men, dark skinned. One dressed in a nice mauve suit, and one dressed in large trousers with dirt stained knees and a tie. They stood away from one another, avoiding eye contact.

"Sam...Dave?" Gretchen recognized, and the group moved allowing the two in. They began to shut the door, only for someone else to push it open. A tall lanky young man dressed in a pinstriped button down shirt and polyester brown pants. He pushed up the black rimmed, square glasses on his nose and ran a hand over his greased back brown hair.

"Menlo," Randall stated his own recognition of this newcomer, and went to rummaging through his trench coat for...something. No one in the room missed the slight view they all received of a shiny metal object shoved into a leather holster strapped to his side. He seemed unable to find what he was looking for and met all their gazes, "What?"

Just as they closed the door, once more a knock arose and once more Gus opened the door. A young man stood before them with black hair and a disarming glower; an unlit cigarette rest on his lips, and he wore a casual black suit.

"Butch," Gus murmured, eyeing the pale man before him and backing up to let him in.

"So, we're all here now," Gretchen sighed, shaking her head, and looking about the room, "All the conspirators. How? How..." she looked to Sam and Dave, then to Menlo, "I thought you were all adamant in not coming."

"Where's Spinelli?" a voice came from the top of the stairs and all eyes trailed up to find TJ sitting painfully looking down at all of them. He was wearing a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and held in his hands his red cap. To be honest, he looked like hell.

"I'm here," a voice spoke up, Spinelli pulling herself through the door despite the heavy traffic in the small front way. Standing amongst the group, she was perhaps the only one refusing to look at TJ.

"That was real clever, Dettwieler," Menlo spat, "Sending Spinelli to round us all up," he gave Spinelli a wary look, rubbing his arm gingerly, "Did she have to be so rough?"

"TJ, you should be in bed," Gretchen said, making to walk up the stairs, "You're in no condition..."

"No," TJ told her, "I'll be fine. Some things are more important."

"I get it now," Spinelli mumbled from her position by the door, "You knew they wouldn't listen, no matter what you or anyone said. But they'd 'listen' to me...or my fists."

"Sorry," TJ muttered, "I knew if anyone could get them all here, it was you."

"So, as everyone keeps saying, we're all here," Menlo spoke up, "Now what?"

* * *

END A/N: I been watching the marathon on SciFi for Farscape, perhaps the greatest science fiction show ever created. But anyways, my brain is fried. How do I get into a mindset to write, you may wonder, I turn on some good music (Limp Bizkit, Greenday, Offspring, Nirvana; you get the picture) and I CRANK THE VOLUME UP AND SING ALONG. Sometimes I dance too. You didn't need to know all that, but I figured I'd tell you because, like I said, my brain is fried. Sometimes I like to walk naked through my house when I'm alone too. HA! That was joke, kind of. Caryl-lee, I noticed you found my fanfic. If you read this part, CALL ME so I can yell...er...speak with you. GRIN!

AH.....now we're getting somewhere in the story. Can you feel it? FEEL WHAT?!? Why, the CLIMAX of course. Um...I have to work tonight...well, in a couple hours actually, and my whole body feels like it was dragged through the pouring rain in mud and slammed against a boulder a few painful times to dry it off. crap. Enough bitching from the peanut gallery.

IF, and not only, IF you read all of that up there, I'm sorry. Please **_REVIEW_**. YOU'RE ALL REALLY PRETTY, so please, **_REVIEW_**!

And, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

Thank you for reading. Your input is necesary for me to continue writing this. Well, kind of. I do need motivation afterall. I could threaten you all. If I do not recieve ten reviews for this chapter I will discontinue this story and LAUGH! For none of you will ever know the ending. BWAHAHAHAHAHA! ...ahem...but will I do it? That is the question. Or, more like, can _you_ risk it?

Adieu, adieu, without further ado, adieu. AHAHAHA! My brain _is_ fried!

Since I am reposting this...sorry for the threats, my brain really _was_ fried.


	26. The Conspirators Reunited

A/N: You're testing me. You're all testing me, calling my bluff, eh? _FOUR_ reviews! Only four?! Ah...damn...

Thanks to those who _did_ review:

RavenForever: Hope you feel better. Happiness is like a stream somewhere in the mountains. You know someone's probably pissed in it at some point in time, but that'll all wash away.

TNPD: You live in a city where no one drives? Where do you live, New York? I live in a city, _everyone_ drives. People drive down the driveway to get the mail here. Ah...well, hope this one's as wonderful as the last.

xXxSarahxXx: I love TJ too...and he's mine, so...(GRIN). Hm...yes, Gus can see now, how convinient was that? The optometrist was in the same hospital, I gotta go to Wal-Mart to get glasses myself. I don't know if Spinelli will get happy again...she might, she might not. I honestly can't say...and even so, would _you_ take TJ back?

Adee: YAY! A new reviewer! Glad you're liking the story. I am amazing, huh? Able to corrupt the most innocent of things. It must help that I'm completely and utterly INSANE!

Alrighty....um....music recommendations are Sanitarium by Limp Bizkit, Fuck the World by the Vines (_**AGAIN?!?)**_ or.....hm....Everything About You by Three Days Grace.

NO MORE! I've decided to discontinue this story due to lack of reviews last time. This will be the last chapter.

Welcome to the ride, there are no exits, please keep all hands and feet inside at all times and...ENJOY!

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Chapter 26: The Conspirators Reunited 

For a long time, they all sat silently in the living room of the Dettwieler house almost summing one another up. The Ashleys had taken the couch, squeezing one another in so as not to be forced next to some...unwanted companion. Francis stood in the kitchen, Spinelli beside him. She seemed dazed. Gretchen was beside Mikey, huddling next to him as though he was something of a sanctuary, and leaving his side were not only undesirable, but also life threatening. Vince had staked out an area equally beside everyone, not an easy task with how many people stood in the room, but he was used to being the center of attention, considering he was the tallest. Randall had once again buried himself in a secluded corner, never feeling quite comfortable with crowds, especially not the one he was now with. Menlo had taken a chair from the dining room table and set it against the wall, which was where he now sat staring out like a courtroom dictator, typing the proceedings before him. Sam and Dave, oddly enough, had taken stances across the room from one another, and Butch had somehow, inexplicably, hidden in the shadow that seemed to follow him around no matter where he went. Gus had appointed himself host, as someone had to be, and was busy serving drinks. Everyone was eyeing TJ who stood at the entrance from the hall to the living room. He leaned heavily against the doorway holding his side, his eyes downcast.

It had been fifteen years since they had all sat in a room together. It went without saying that this was a truly momentous event. The conspirators were reunited at last.

"Where are your parents?" Menlo asked, settling himself in the role of inquisitor. He had the disgruntled look of one roused from bed in the middle of the night.

"They're part of the volunteer group cleaning up after the flood," TJ answered, running his hand awkwardly through his hair and tightening his grasp on his red hat. He needed to be the old TJ. He just...he'd forgotten how over the past several years. He smirked ironically. How do you forget how to be yourself?

"Why, pray tell, are we all here?" Menlo finally demanded the question on everyone lips. The group, for the most part having looked worn, weary, and miserable; perked up slightly.

"Mary Anna," TJ said the name tentatively, bracing for the impact it would undoubtedly have on the company. His assumption was correct, as some members of the company so much as jumped from their seats, others shifting uncomfortably, and a few gasps arose.

"We're not supposed to even..." Butch began.

"Talk about it?" TJ interrupted, "As though _that'll_ make it go away? Jesus Christ, people, for fifteen years we've swept this...accident, under the proverbial rug!" TJ had risen his gaze, looking at each and every one of the people in that room with a fiery passion. "I'm sorry, but I've lost too much to this damn thing that, as far as you're all concerned, never happened so long as you don't talk about it. I've lost friends, people I care about," his eyes paused on Spinelli, "Someone I love," he looked away again, "And if we don't talk about it, we're all going to lose the last thing we all have left. Our lives."

"Dettwieler, honestly," Menlo started, rising from the chair, "This is ridiculous..."

"Is it?" TJ interrupted, "Where'd you get that limp you've been walking with ever since you entered this house? And Butch, that bump on your head. And Sam, you get those scars on an excavation dig, 'cause they sure look fresh to me."

"Whatever you're getting at, Dettwieler, you better get at it fast," Menlo snapped.

"A couple days ago you were all called, well, whoever we could get a hold of, about a brown envelope containing a mysterious message," TJ sighed, "And we've all been visited by some...psycho..."

"My 'message' disappeared, so it's really no concern to me anymore," Menlo spat, making headway for the door.

"So did mine," Ashley T. spoke up.

"And mine," Butch shrugged, "So does that mean we can leave?"

"No," Gretchen began, "Because even if your messages did disappear, it doesn't mean that you're not all still targeted." Everyone froze, a chill running up their spines. Silence fell over them.

"Do you...do you have to word it like that?" Dave asked.

"What other way is there to word it?" Gretchen questioned, then, shaking her head, "I have to see everyone's message...at least, those who still have theirs. Now, who has them on their person?" There was shuffling as hands went into pockets. Those who claimed theirs disappeared were the only one's empty-handed. Gretchen accepted the brown envelopes, opening them one at a time and examining the handwriting.

"Well...?" Ashley B. said impatiently.

"Curious..." Gretchen stated, "All done in different hands...crude, childish writing. Randall, I'd recognize your childhood handwriting anywhere, Spinelli confiscated enough of your...notebooks." Randall shifted uncomfortably. "Ashleys, as always, recognizable. Hm...Sam, Dave, dirt smudged, chicken scratch, makes sense. From what I can tell, these are all written in all of your handwritings. You all wrote these in your youth, and...apparently, logically, sent them to yourself."

"What do they say?" Menlo asked, curiosity evident on his shining pale face.

"I've concluded that the messages themselves mean, quite frankly, nothing," Gretchen told him with a dour expression.

"Then who sent them to us and why?" Ashley A. demanded.

"From what I can tell...we sent them to us," Gretchen shrugged.

"That makes absolutely no sense," Ashley A. hissed disgustedly, "So we're all here to talk about a subject we've already talked to _death_, no pun intended. And we sent ourselves these messages that we don't even recall writing!"

"You've already talked about this?" Butch perked up, resituating his position, "But that's an infraction of the pact."

"Do you even remember what was agreed in that pact?" TJ regained the head of the conversation, "We agreed that no person would talk, mention, or speak of the incident without the knowledge or participation of every person signed on said pact. We are all here. So if you're afraid of breaking the rules of the pact, the most sacred rule to all kids, Butch, then you're not. It's stupid superstition anyways."

"Excuse you," Butch scoffed, "_Stupid superstition_? Breaking a pact is..."

"Honestly, I don't give a rat's ass right now," TJ interjected, "Did you _not_ hear my little speech? I have lost everything I care about and to tell the truth; I don't want to lose anything else I have to lose. Mary Anna died fifteen years ago."

"At least, that's what we all believed," Gus put in.

"And we were responsible for what happened," TJ said, his eyes lowering, "I was responsible." He shook his head slightly and lifted it, "Now it's come back to haunt us, because we _made a mistake._"

"Wait, wait, wait," Ashley Q. spoke up, "How do we know that Mary Anna, or this _Clara_, is whose really responsible for all this bad stuff happening. Like, how do we know that it's not one of us? It could be any of you behind this."

"Yeah, you guys broke the pact, how am I to know you didn't break the pact before?" Butch added.

"Yeah, like _Randall_," Ashley B. spoke up, rising to her feet and turning on said person, "You're like...you can't keep your mouth shut. Once a snitch, always a snitch." Randall shifted slightly, shuddering under the new limelight as everyone turned on him, and shrinking back into the corner all color from his face fading as a look of horror crossed it.

"I...I don't...I didn't," he stammered.

"Yeah, and we all, like, saw that gun," Ashley T. joined in, "What do you plan on using that gun for? Where'd you get it? I mean, like, who'd give you a gun?"

"I have a license for it...it's registered," Randall choked, "I just...I didn't want to take chances..."

"Yeah, take the chance you'd miss an opportunity like this, all of us in one room together," Ashley B. snapped, "He's the one. He locked Mary Anna in the gym. He probably went back later, lit the place on fire! We all know that Mary Anna was taking his place, eagerly handing information over to Miss Finster. That she was quickly becoming Finster's new pet. You couldn't stand that...huh, Randall? Couldn't stand to lose the chance to get rid of Mary Anna once and for all in that gym..."

"Will you stop that?" Francis stepped in, positioning himself in front of the cowering Randall, "He's not behind any of this because, in case you forgot, he received one of those creepy notes too."

"I really don't think we should go on who received a note," Mikey spoke up, "Because TJ never received one and..."

"Mikey," Gretchen hissed, trying to hush him, but it was too late. All eyes were once again on TJ.

"Funny," Ashley A. prodded, a raised eyebrow, "That you would never bring that up."

"I...uh..." TJ looked out at them, "I don't know..." he ran his hand through his hair once more, rubbing the back of his neck and searching the old gang for assistance, "I don't know why I didn't get one of those notes. I'm not behind any of this."

"You were sympathetic towards Mary Anna. You never wanted us to sign that pact in the first place," Menlo brought up, stepping forward to lead the mob, "You were the last one to sign it, after all. And I remember you saying that it was wrong...remember? You told me that you didn't feel we should be doing it, that we should tell someone."

"I...it _was_ wrong," TJ tried to stand his ground. Menlo jabbed a finger in his chest and he winced slightly.

"If I recall correctly, you were the one who came up with the plan in the first place. You were the one who had us lead Mary Anna to that gym and had us leave her behind in that manner. Everyone recalls how you commented unhappily about the broken doll," Menlo continued, encouraged by shouts of agreement from the crowd, shoving TJ, who stumbled backwards in pain. He hadn't the chance to see the black haired young woman step forward, pushing Menlo back into the crowd and raising her fists, her teeth gritted.

"Pointing fingers ain't getting us anywhere," Spinelli spat, "But if any of you want to continue with this witch hunt, then please, step forward. I'm in the mood to crack some skulls."

"You honestly can't rule TJ out as a suspect," Ashley Q. murmured, though was unmoving.

"Spinelli's right, pointing fingers is getting us nowhere," Francis said, moving to Spinelli's side.

"How do we know that one of you isn't behind all of this?" Ashley A. spat, looking between Francis and Spinelli, "Spinelli's note was ripped up and we all know that she hated Mary Anna the most, and, like, it's so obvious the way she's always felt about Dettwieler. And it's obvious that something went down between Dettwieler and Clara, our one suspect, that the little...is it, Spinelli, are you the ex-girlfriend now? Well, whatever you are to TJ, you're not happy about whatever happened." Spinelli flinched; her fists loosening, weakening, she looked away anger simmering behind dark eyes. TJ glowered at the floor, the pain biting in.

"That's none of your business; you cheap, blonde, bitch" Spinelli snarled.

"Hey," Francis donned the dangerous position of mediator, "Back off, Ashley A. and Spinelli...your name calling and threats aren't helping."

"How 'bout you, Francis," Ashley B. bubbled, "Why are you even here? Your parents don't live here anymore. You have no real ties left to this town...aside from Mary Anna that is. Everybody's been doing the emotional tango, and you've been playing Mr. Suave, carefree, with no problems, stepping in to rescue everyone from themselves. Maybe you've been the puppet master all along."

"I was here on business," Francis told her defensively.

"Really? How convenient," Ashley B. jabbed.

"Stop it," Ashley Q. pushed her way forward, "Stop this, Ashley B."

"What is with you, Ashley Q.?" Ashley B. growled, inches from Ashley Q.'s face, "So willing to cling to any guy that gives you attention and doesn't have a ring on his finger, or any girl claiming him as her own. You adopting the little hustler boy as your new charity project? Don't think I haven't noticed the way you've been following him around."

"I, like, so do not cling," Ashley Q. hissed, "And I am not following him around. I am married, thank you very much, I don't need to cling to guys."

"That's yet to be proven."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you keep talking about this husband, that I have, like, never seen. None of us have," Ashley B. clarified maliciously and Ashley Q.'s face fell, "Now you're grabbing your claws into the nearest body shooting testosterone through its veins. I hate to break this to you, but the vintage look is _so_ passé."

"If you're going to accuse someone, maybe it was Butch. We all know that he's a freak for this pact stuff, and he was always telling those creepy stories, and skulking around school. He has axe-murderer written all over him!" Ashley Q. thrust her finger towards the dark haired young man, "Or what about Menlo? Maybe he was a little upset because a part of his precious school burned down. Or what about..._you_, Ashley B. I know for a fact that Mary Anna kept getting you in trouble for dress code and then your parents were trying to get you to buddy up with her, and start dressing like her. Like, how do we know that you're not behind all of this?"

"You bitch," Ashley B. snapped, and no one was quite sure what happened when they heard the loud crack as Ashley B.'s hand slapped across Ashley Q.'s now reddening cheek.

"Me? The bitch?" Ashley Q. stuttered her hand coming up to the sore spot on her delicate skin, "You are..."

"Ashleys," TJ broke in, "Look at yourselves! Look at all of you, at each other's throats. None of this is getting us anywhere!" he shook his head, gripping the hat tighter in his hands as everyone's attention returned to him once more, "We made a mistake fifteen years ago. _Not_," he hissed before any more commotion could arise, "What happened with Mary Anna. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about what we did after what happened to Mary Anna.

"We were kids...kids faced with a really horrible situation. It was hard enough to face the facts...let alone deal with it. But we're not kids anymore. We're adults. A mistake, that's what we made. It was a mistake, we're only human, and we were only kids, we're allowed to make a few mistakes in our lives. We didn't understand back then, it wasn't entirely real to us...well...it was real, just not in the way it should have been. We understood that Mary Anna was dead and that we had something to do with it. We just didn't understand what responsibility that entailed. Our only thoughts were of making it go away, erasing it...we wanted a do-over. We just didn't realize that...well we didn't know...you're not allowed do-over's in life. If you make a mistake, if you do something wrong, you can't turn back, you can only try and fix it as best you can.

"Fifteen years ago, a little girl died...I don't know what died means, if her body died or if..." TJ closed his eyes, took a deep breath, "All I know is that we decided to forget it. Push it aside; pretend it never happened. But that doesn't erase it. It happened. Mary Anna died that day. Fifteen years ago, we buried a secret, hid it away, forced it from our minds, and went about our lives. We can't do that anymore."

"What are you saying?" Mikey asked, fidgeting where he stood.

"We have to go back," TJ said, his voice shaking, "That's why you're all here. So as not to break the pact, and because you all have a right to know what I plan on doing. We have to go back to that gym, we have to dig up what we buried. It's the only way."

"Are you crazy?" Randall snapped.

"Yeah, are you crazy?" Sam and Dave said in unison, and then shot one another indignant looks.

"Maybe," TJ shrugged, "But aren't we all? Isn't it driving us all crazy?"

"And what'll we find there?" Ashley A. muttered.

"A broken doll," Menlo answered, "A tattered piece of paper otherwise known as the infamous pact, a few other paraphernalia associated with our little...prank. Nothing of use to us. Why we would uncover it is beyond me. We were foolish children really, assuming that our little 'evidence' would tie us to the death of that Mary Anna."

"What's going on, whoever is hunting us down, has something to do with what's in that dirt. Sam, Dave, you guys love dirt," TJ looked to them, "You up for a little late night digging?"

"Um...I don't know, TJ," Sam muttered, running a hand absently over the back of his neck.

"Yeah...I don't know," Dave echoed.

"_You_ know something, don't you," Gus spoke up, eyeing TJ suspiciously, "That's why you're leading us to the gym, that's why you want us to dig up that stuff. You have a hunch, don't you?"

"Just a hunch, Gus. _Remember_, a graveyard where the children play," TJ smirked slightly, almost sardonically as he slipped the red cap over his head in the fashion the group before him was used to seeing, "A stone hearth where the fires burned and now the bones are at rest. It was a clue, she was giving us a clue, Gus."

"Graveyard...stone hearth," Gretchen muttered, her eyes livening slightly, "Interesting. I'm in. Let's go dig."

"If Gretchen sees a reason," Mikey started, "Then that's reason enough for me. Count me in."

"Me too," Gus spoke up.

"I want answers," Vince shrugged, "I'll go." TJ frowned, studying Spinelli from the corner of his eye. She was chewing her lower lip, glaring at her hands, which she rubbed together furiously.

"Fine," she whispered, looking up to meet TJ's eyes and he could see the strength it took her to do that alone, "I'm in, too."

With the alliance of TJ's old gang once more in place, the rest of their companions crumbled. A sigh of resignation followed by a 'fine' escaped from Butch. The diggers agreed that they hadn't gotten "down and dirty" in some time and they were due for a good few hours of digging. Francis added his approval of the idea, and said he found it somewhat profitable to their salvation and the Ashleys all gave their disgusted agreement in the plan and shared their detest for dirt. Randall shrugged and indicated that he had nothing better to do and Menlo, the last one to agree, sputtered something about how he was the only one with proper, legal access to the school as it were and their plan was shot without him. He liked to feel important.

"Then it's settled," TJ mumbled, and his former friends couldn't help but painfully note how pale he'd become, sinking against the wall, "We'll do it tonight. Right now. We can't waste time. We'll walk there."

-0-0-0-0-

In silence they all trekked to the building that haunted and plagued their memories. The chain-linked fence was all but a reminder of years spent playing on that playground, of years spent learning in the building beyond, of years spent running from the confines of that chain-linked fence at the end of the day in jubilation.

Now, willingly, they made their way to the entrance, watching as Menlo stepped forward and retrieved his keys from his back pocket. He opened the gate and let them in. It was a time before anyone spoke.

"Do you remember where it is?" TJ asked of the diggers, trying to hide how haggard his breathing had become in the short journey from his house to the school.

"I spent 6 years digging holes on this playground," Dave assured him, puffing his chest out, "And I remember every hole I've dug. It's by the far side of the gym, fifteen feet from the wall."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Sam rolled his eyes, "It's ten feet from the double doors of the gym."

"What? Are you crazy?" Dave argued, "I know exactly where every hole we ever dug is! My memory is by far sharper than yours."

"And yet you can't even remember where a simple, extremely important, financial report is?" Sam shot back. TJ shook his head. He recalled the conversation the diggers had before they'd even left his house. Sam had volunteered his shovels, which, according to him, he always came prepared with, as well as hardhats.

"Ah, an eleven inch steel head," Dave had said, stepping forward and taking the instrument from the trunk of Sam's car. "Only a twenty-six inch handle? Ah, well, steel is the only tool worthy of this task."

"Really?" Sam had muttered, "Not when you look at the sedimentary sand of the playground. Are you daft, or have you just simply forgotten everything you learned digging on that playground in childhood? This is a job for a brass head...most preferably a fourteen inch brass head, like this beauty here." Upon saying this, Sam had produced another shovel from his trunk, holding it up as though he expected everyone to marvel at it.

"Brass?" Dave had snorted, "_You_ have lost it. Brass is for mud if you ask me."

"Well no one did," Sam had replied dejectedly, "You were never much of a digger anyways. Digging was never _really_ your forte. Which is probably why it's best that you quit."

That ended the conversation rather quickly. And now the two walked with prideful strides, each wielding their shovel of choice and determined to prove the other wrong. TJ grimaced, the pain of his injuries had been nothing more than a distraction back at the house, but now in the open air, navigating their way through debris left over from the flood, it was becoming a dire problem. He stumbled, shocked by the pain that jolted through his body, and even more shocked when a hand caught him mid-fall.

"This is ridiculous," Vince's voice filled TJ's ear as the taller young man held him steady.

"What is?" TJ asked through gritted teeth, straightening, "It's the only way. We have to dig that stuff up..."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Vince hissed, "We really shouldn't be making this walk. Spinelli looks like hell. I feel like hell. Gretchen's wheezing, Francis is clutching his side as though his life depended on it, Menlo looks like he's ready to pass out, and you...you're not instilling any morale in us with the way you're pale as a ghost and tripping over the smallest of pebbles!"

"Is that everything?" TJ muttered sarcastically, "Because you forgot to mention that I might be leading everyone into the hands of a psychopath who wants us dead, I have no idea what the hell I'm doing, more than half these people, present company included, hate me, and...oh yeah, it looks like it's gonna rain again."

"I don't hate you, Teej," Vince gently protested.

"Well, the past several years really don't reflect that."

"I've said I'm sorry. TJ," Vince lightened his tone slightly, "I'm tired of hating myself, and that's all I've ever really done. I wanted to blame you for everything and...I did."

"Thanks for the explanation, pal, but..."

"TJ," Vince snapped, "I'm making it easy for you. I'm apologizing. I'm sucking up my pride and dignity and giving you a chance. Remember when we were in first grade. The lucky marble?"

TJ remembered. They'd found a quarter in the street and used it in one of those quarter machines outside of Kelso's. Their prize had been a perfect blue marble. Upon receiving that marble, their luck seemed to change for the better, and being children, they decided it had to be the marble's doing. They took turns with the marble, each using it for a day, and generously reaping the benefits. That is, until it disappeared mysteriously.

"I didn't take it," TJ muttered.

"I know," Vince told him, "I found it a few years back rolled up in an old sock that got lost behind the washing machine. My mother probably accidentally dropped it back there doing laundry. I found it when I was helping my dad remove the machine, when my parents got a new one. The point is, Teej, that we both blamed one another at first, remember? But we got over it. We realized that it was stupid to let something neither of us was responsible for get in the way of our friendship. How come we had so much more common sense when we were kids?"

"This isn't a marble, Vince. This is...this is death, a death we caused...well, we were part of it. And this is...it's Spinelli," TJ lowered his eyes.

"You're so stubborn. Fine," Vince whispered, "I knew how you felt about her, TJ. Way back when, I knew."

"What?"

"Our friendship is already so screwed up, I figure I should tell you. I knew that you liked her, I mean, who didn't know? And I knew that she liked you. Probably before either of you ever figured out your own feelings," Vince slowed his pace, "My crush was small, it was a childish crush that I didn't want to lose to you. I'm sorry." TJ gaped at him, his mouth hung open.

"What?" he repeated, "_Sorry_! You're _sorry_? You kissed Spinelli, you kissed my girlfriend and professed love to her at a very unstable moment in our relationship! And now you're telling me you did it on purpose, you wanted to screw over our relationship the whole time? That you never really did it because you were in actual undying love with Spinelli?"

"If you say it like that it sounds...I mean...well, yeah, that's how it played out..." Vince mumbled, downcast. He didn't expect the laughter that burst from TJ. He expected maybe a fist in the face, or a biting comment, or yelling and name-calling, maybe a few threats. But not the maniacal laughter erupting from the small battered body of his former best friend. It was surprising, to say the least, disturbing the silence and the rest of the group paused, glancing at him as though he'd lost it. And maybe he had.

"I don't believe you," TJ finally gasped, shaking his head, "I don't believe it." The laughter dying, he continued walking as though nothing had happened and his companions watched him cross the playground in the direction of the gym.

"Only the insane would follow the insane," Menlo commented and to that Randall, looking at his hands blankly, shrugged, and continued walking. With heavy sighs, the rest of the group continued on their "merry" path.

The playground remained preserved in their memories. The companions felt the same haunting sense that TJ and Vince had felt nearly a day before when they had first stepped foot for the first time in nearly twelve years on the school grounds. The swings seemed to move with the eerie push of ghost swingers, the slide gleamed in the moonlight and the tetherballs chinked in the dead night. A reverent silence fell over the group as they stared out in quiet rumination of a past they pretended to have forgotten, but never really had. TJ stopped and the rest of the group followed suit, watching wide-eyed as he touched the newly painted red door of the gym, a building that stood as a constant reminder of that painful moment blazing in their past. They stared at that building, reminiscing of days in gym class under the tutelage of Coach Kluge; running laps, doing sit-ups, push-ups, routine warm-ups, and once in a while, playing an indoor game of dodge ball. In a moment, the gym lit up before their eyes, images of that fire burningly ingrained in their minds.

"This," TJ announced quietly, his voice steady, assured, "This is the spot." Without question, protest, or argument, the diggers stepped forward, shovels in hand, and began digging.

Not wanting to get in the way of the "professionals" the others sat back, watching as dirt was flung into a growing pile, out of the earth, into the air, and back down again. The two young men worked quickly, hastily, only pausing once in awhile to glower at one another or comment on the other's "shoddy digging". Sam had always been the real muscle of the duo, the faster digger, but Dave was better at directing, pointing out when Sam focused too often in one spot, or not often enough in another. Finally, after a long time of watching, Mikey shifted in his position.

"Vince," he groaned, "Want to play tetherball?"

"Sure," Vince agreed and the two were off.

"I play winner," Gretchen called after them.

"Wait for me," Gus said, pulling himself up.

"I'm, like, going to grab a swing," Ashley Q. excused herself and the other Ashleys, of course, followed, though they were silent and a dark cloud seemed to hang over their heads. With them gone, the group was once again silent, only for the sound of shovels shuffling dirt, and the echo of a tetherball bouncing in the background. Butch tapped his foot, and soon began wandering off.

"I'm going to take a look around the place," he explained, before fading into the darkness of the night.

"Of course, you won't mind if I join you?" Menlo raced after the dark man.

"This is...fascinating and all," Randall started, "But uh..." He had been squeamish since the digging began, "When do we put it all back?" His eyes were on the disturbed dirt.

"Come on, Randall," Francis said, patting the younger man's shoulder, "Let's take a walk."

TJ watched as the two left, Randall fidgeting with his coat, and Francis rubbing his hands together. He was alone with Spinelli, the two diggers too focused on their work to even bother paying attention to them. She had bundled herself up and taken a seat against the wall, watching with half-closed eyes as the diggers worked. TJ couldn't force his eyes away from the growing hole in the ground, no more than he could force himself not to listen intently as Spinelli breathed softly, not to see from the corner of his eye her every movement whether it be a twitch or a slight shift in position, not to feel her presence with every fiber of his being.

"You know what's in there, don't you?" she finally said, motioning to the hole, and her voice was so soft and careful that it hurt TJ's heart just to hear it.

"Everyone does..." he mumbled, coughing slightly to clear his throat, "Menlo ran an inventory list back at the house, you heard him." He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as she turned to look at him.

"You know something," she wasn't asking, just simply stating.

"I don't know..."

"Don't feed me that same bullshit you're feeding the others. I know you, Teej," she narrowed her eyes on him, "I know that look in your eyes. I see those little gears in your head turning." TJ shook his head, leaning back to stare up at the night sky.

"I'm worried," he told her, "Worried about what we'll find in there. Worried about whether what I'm thinking will work. I'm worried about...about you."

"Don't," she whispered, turning away, "You don't have the right to worry about me. You lost that right."

"Am I not allowed to think about you, either?" She was silent. "Well? Because I can't help that. Just like I can't help worrying about you. Maybe I don't have the right to think of you, or worry about you, or even love you. But I always will."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have slept with Clara," she hissed, wrapping her arms tightly about her body. TJ said nothing.

"I didn't enjoy it," he finally said and received an odd glare from Spinelli. "You asked me before, if I enjoyed it...sleeping with Clara. I didn't. Maybe that's one of the reasons I did it...because I wanted to hurt myself. I'm sorry."

"TJ," they heard Dave call and both rose, walking to the edge of the hole. It had gotten so deep in the few moments they'd taken their eyes off it.

"We found something," Sam told them, pulling a dirty metal object out and handing it over. The rest of the group gathered round, having heard the call and headed back.

"It's a tin can," TJ explained. He opened it, shaking out a dirty folded piece of lined paper. With careful fingers he unraveled it, looked it over, and handed it to Menlo. "Read it," he commanded.

"Ah...yes," Menlo adjusted his glasses, looking the paper over, "Ah... 'We the undersigned do hereby swear that the events on the 23rd day of November 1998 will never be spoken of henceforth'...Dettwieler, why am I reading over this? I wrote it, I know what it says."

"Just keep reading," TJ snapped.

"Alright...um...yadda, yadda, henceforth...um... 'From this day forth, we agree to never speak of, unless in the presence of every living undersigned member of the pact, anything and everything having to do with one, Mary Anna James...We agree to share no responsibility pertaining to the aforementioned, nor to ever speak of the event that took place on this day, the 23rd of November, with any who are not of the undersigned, nor if any of the undersigned are not present, or of knowledge of the conversation. From this day forth, we the undersigned agree that the events of the 23rd of November never happened.' Then it's just our names," Menlo looked up meeting TJ's eyes.

"Look at the names," he instructed.

"It's just all of our..." Menlo stopped, squinting his eyes and patting the paper to knock some more of the dirt off, "There's one too many names on here...the last name is...it's...Clara..." he looked up again and jumped back, tripping to the ground, his heart jumping in his throat. He'd thought he'd saw something...a little girl perhaps standing amongst them. He had to have been wrong. His heart was pounding.

* * *

END A/N: HOW DOES SHE DO IT? My mind is on the verge of explosion. 

Oh, and I'm not discontinuing the story. I just would have _soooooo_ loved to see your guys' faces when you read that! BWAHAHAHAHA! What? I told you I had a dry sense of humor and I'm a bitch, what did you expect? Aww...where are you going? Come back...I didn't mean to hurt your feelings...if it makes you feel better, I'll tell you who's behind it all.

Are you back?

Alright...it's....A SECRET! Did you really think I was going to tell? I'm not telling 'till the end. I'm being bad. I'll go to my corner. This is what happens when the only thing I eat all day is candy corn. It's six o'clock at night and all I've eaten is candycorn. I'M SO HUNGRY! And CANDYCORN IS EVIL!

Once again, I'm sorry for my behaviour. PLEASE **_REVIEW_**. You can bitch at me, I don't mind. Reprimand me, scold me, flame me, just please, please, please **_REVIEW_**. I hate to beg...

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

THANKS FOR READING. YOU'RE ALL SUCH LOVELY PEOPLE and I LOVE YOU ALL.

PEACE.


	27. Falling Into Place

A/N: FIVE DAYS! It took me five days to get this up! Bet you all were starting to wonder if maybe that joke last chapter wasn't really a joke....hehehe. Actually, I developed serious writer's block. I know how the story is going to end, I know everything that's going to happen, but...I don't have every chapter planned out. I didn't know how much I wanted to reveal in this chapter, or more precisely, how much I didn't want to reveal.

Thanks to the reviewers (mostly for not killing me for that joke...it wasn't funny, right? eh...heh...)

RT: I understand, spend time with your family, and review when you can. I will...however...miss your reviews when you can't post one...sniff....

RavenForever: Yes, I am evil and you'd better get used to it. If you want to spoil the ending for everyone, you better do it soon, because the ending is quickly coming. Yeah, the reason the playground equipment is still up is, well first of all, the school didn't burn down it simply closed down after the murder...and if you read back over the story, there are plans to reopen it upon the next semester. Yup. I did especially like the fighting part when the Ashley's are exchanging words...and bitch slaps. Made me laugh while I wrote it.

DarkAngelGuadianLight: Yes. A joke. Somewhat. HA!

xXxSarahxXx: Yeah, you'd think the red hat would do _something_ for Spinelli. I mean, jeez, it's _the _red hat. _SO, _he slept with another chic, big deal, he has his RED HAT ON! hehe. I'm not mocking you. Yeah, Clara is creepy, and she's only going to get creepier.

TNPD: Yes, you have been punked. Now where did Ashton go? I had him in a bottle somewhere...must have escaped again...oh well. You live in New York? I guessed correctly? WOW, I am _soooo_ smart. Oi.

Caryl-lee: My, my, my. The only one who can actually hunt me down and tie me to a chair and force me to finish this fic...hm...I shouldn't give you idea, huh? NO ONE'S ALLOWED TO PAY HER TO DO THAT! Call me after you read this chapter.

Music recommendations: Chop Suey by System of a Down, Schism by Tool, or Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana (Nirvana most particularly). Listen to all three in cycle...Nirvana First, Tool Second, then System of a Down. Yes...hm...I try to make these recs really well rounded, to suit everyone's tastes, but to be honest, some chapters...not a lot fits with them from different genres of music. These are mostly things I listen to while I write the chapter.

Okaly-Dokaly...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 27: Falling Into Place 

A heavy hand came down on Menlo's shoulder and he straightened, though his lips were pursed tightly together.

"Are you alright, Menlo?" Mikey asked, the owner of the hand. Menlo pulled from his reach.

"Fine," he snarled, snapping the paper back to TJ, "I simply...the night air is playing tricks on my mind."

"Did you say the last name on that list was Clara?" Spinelli spoke up, the name catching in her throat. All eyes turned to Menlo who nodded, then returned to TJ.

"Who is this Clara?" Butch asked, "You all keep mentioning her." TJ sighed, shaking his head and glancing to Gretchen.

"Do you mind?" he asked.

"Not at all," she sighed somewhat sardonically. She did mind, but went on with the story telling despite it. She told Butch, Sam and Dave, and Menlo the entire story of everything that had happened since she knew of. All the little gory details, every piece of information her brain could muster, which in truth was rather an impressive amount. Every now and then, another would speak up and fill in the blanks of their own experience, but for the most part, everyone remained silent, listening intently. When she explained who Clara was, TJ took a great deal of interest in kicking at the dirt. Finally, she finished.

"Well," Menlo muttered, dazedly, "Well..."

"So Clara is...she's behind all of this?" Butch asked, "Who is she? I mean, what does she have to do with Mary Anna? And who's Brenda?"

"I think I can help clarify that to some degree," Gretchen interjected, "I ran a search on the name Mary Anna James, but was only able to pull up her father's name, Freud James. You aren't going to believe this...but...he was a doll maker."

"Was?" TJ prodded.

"Yeah, _was_. He retired when his daughter disappeared mysteriously," Gretchen explained

"Mary Anna James," Menlo nodded in understanding, but Gretchen shook her head.

"No," Gretchen retorted, "Brenda James." An odd smile slipped across her lips as all eyes turned on her, she nodded her head slowly, "Freaky, huh?"

"His daughter's name was Brenda?" TJ choked out, "Wait, what?"

"Yup," Mikey confirmed, "I saw it. The name of the daughter was Brenda, and the name of the mother and wife was Maryland. Freud's first doll was named and designed after his wife. He also created a doll named Mary Anna."

"Designed after a little girl that lived next door to them. Mary Anna was originally born and raised in Louisiana, but Brenda and her family moved there when Brenda was, to my estimation, two," Gretchen picked up where Mikey left off, "It gets weirder. All of the dolls in the James collection were one of a kind. These first two, Maryland and Mary Anna were not available for purchase, and no one knows where they are. It's said that Freud created dozens of dolls that are lost. No one knows who purchased them, or what happened to them. The first doll that was reported 'sold' was a doll named Clara, designed for and purchased by one Mary Anna, the model for his second doll."

"Where did you get all this information?" Randall asked, who'd been paying attention with wry awe. Being in the CIA, Randall would have understood if he, himself, had been able to acquire the mass amount of information, but Gretchen and Mikey weren't in the CIA.

"The internet," Gretchen shrugged.

"What about a doll named Brenda?" Gus asked, but Gretchen shook her head.

"The site listed as many dolls as the Webmaster knew of, but Brenda wasn't amongst them," Gretchen explained, "Which leads me to believe that maybe Brenda wasn't a doll that Freud created, or perhaps, it was a private creation for his daughter."

"What's the matter, TJ?" Mikey turned his attention to the former leader. TJ had buried himself deep in thought, losing interest in the conversation, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. Upon hearing his name, he shook out of the seeming trance, and focused on the group who now stared anxiously at him awaiting his input.

"There was Brenda, and there was Mary Anna. Who were we dealing with? Mary Anna, or Brenda? Who was in that building when it burned down, Mary Anna or Brenda?" he shrugged, "I don't know, it's just that picture is bugging me."

"Ah, the mysterious picture," Gretchen nodded; pulling it from her pocket for the other's to see.

"Did you decipher the message?"

"You'll love this," Gretchen smiled, passing it over, "It's only partial, but there's one thing I can make out most certainly. Third Street Lake."

A crackle in the distance shook the companions from whatever musings they'd busied themselves with.

"We better get out of here," Vince suggested, shifting slightly, "It's gonna rain again."

"If there's nothing else in the hole..." TJ shrugged and they made to leave. Dave struck the dirt with his shovel, to free his hands so he might climb out, and a sound of steel striking a hard object erupted in the still of the night air, the sound perhaps of glass breaking. They all stopped.

"What was that?" Vince was the first to speak up. The diggers were back in the hole once more without a moment's hesitation, patting the dirt now with their hands, shoving and brushing it out of the way. They sat back when they uncovered the first head, pale as the moonlight, large round eyes staring up to the heavens, stringy hair, burnt, the face shattered in.

"A doll," Dave murmured, looking up in almost questioning to TJ, and sat as though waiting for further instructions. The others stood around the hole staring down inside, gaping in awe of this new discovery.

"It's not the doll we buried," Spinelli verified, "Keep digging." TJ nodded, and on his command, the diggers retrieved their shovels, now gently removing the dirt from the hole in small piles. Again the other's sat back watching with a renewed fascination, but their eyes could not be peeled from what was slowly being revealed in that small hole.

"Dolls," Sam was saying, "So many dolls." He raised one from the hole, fairly intact and handed it up to the first outstretched hand, Menlo.

"It's..." Menlo started, knocking the dirt off of the porcelain revealing a hidden beauty, "Broken, they're all broken."

"Hey," Ashley A. gasped, "That kind of looks like...me." It was true, with the blonde hair and delicate blue eyes. A pink dress was barely recognizable through the dirt, with a pretty black jacket draped over it.

"She's right," Menlo agreed, handing it over to the Ashleys who looked down upon it disdainfully.

"There's more," Dave called up from the hole, lifting out others that were not as intact as the Ashley A. look-a-like.

"They're all broken...so dirty, and they look like they were burned," Francis noted, taking one, "You know, I've heard of Freud James, now that I think about it. The dolls he made are all highly sought after by collectors. Each one is described as perfect examples of porcelain work."

"Then why would someone trash one of those dolls?" Spinelli asked, "They wouldn't, right? So, these must be cheap dolls, probably aren't even made of porcelain."

"Right," Francis confirmed, "Because if these were from the James Collection, we'd be standing on thousands of dollars worth of trash. Person would have to be crazy to do this to dolls from..." Everyone fell silent at that. "Oh, yeah...that's right," Francis shrugged, busying himself with straightening his shirt. As far as they knew, the person after them _was_ crazy.

"What do we do now?" Butch spoke up, and everyone turned to TJ once more, the unanimous leader.

"Yeah, what now?" Menlo demanded. And voices rose in conjunction asking for answers.

"Calm down," TJ cried, "Quiet..." he sighed, as a hush fell about the group, "I don't know if it'll work but...I have a plan."

"Thank god," Ashley A. muttered, "Finally."

"Yeah," Butch put in, "Took you long enough."

"What's the plan, Dettwieler," Randall spoke up.

"It's not a new plan," TJ told them, "It's an old one, fifteen years old to be exact. There'll be changes, of course, because we can't follow it exactly..."

"You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?" Vince questioned.

"Yeah," TJ nodded, "I am."

"You think it'll work?" Gretchen asked, catching on.

"I don't know," TJ shrugged, "It's got to be perfect."

"What if we can't pull it off again?" Gus muttered.

"Pull what off again?" Francis demanded.

"Yeah, are you guys going to, like, fill us in, or what?" Ashley A. joined in.

"You already all know the plan," TJ explained, "But just in case you've forgotten, we'll go over it again. I'm going to lead Clara to the gym..."

"But she'll know," Mikey interrupted, "She'll know what we're planning."

"No," TJ snapped, "She trusts me, at least I think she does. Hope she does. I don't know why, or how, but I think Clara is different then Mary Anna. I don't think she'll know. It's the only chance we have..."

"No," Spinelli said flatly, "We're not doing it. I'm not doing it."

"Spi...we have to," TJ argued.

"No, it's too big a risk," Spinelli shook her head, "You're going on some goddamned _hunch_ that Clara doesn't want to kill you? No, no, no, no, and did I mention, NO!"

"It's the only way..." TJ protested.

"No. Make another plan," Spinelli hissed.

"I'm doing it whether you're involved or not. I'm going back to that boathouse, I'm looking for Clara, and I'm following through with this plan, and maybe getting answers along the way," TJ replied softly, "There's not a whole lot of ways we can go about this. We don't have the upper hand here. I'll be frank with you; we're screwed. The chances of this working are slim to none, and the only guarantee I can give any of you is that...if it all falls through...I'll be the one in danger. I can't let someone else get hurt because of another of my stupid plans. Unless any of you have anything better...?"

"We storm the goddamned boathouse," Spinelli spat, "We break it open, find the bitch and drag her to the loony bin."

"It lacks grace, however..." Gretchen started, but her voice faltered as TJ shook his head.

"We're not even certain that that's where she'll be. And even then...she'll show herself to me, I'm almost positive," TJ chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, looking amongst the people standing around him. He'd known them all since kindergarten. It was a long time to know someone. They'd all changed so much, not one was the same as before. They're faces all seemed so familiar, yet changed, it was their eyes that threw him off. Even his closest friends. Gretchen looked out at the world bitterly, Vince stared out in anger and frustration, Gus seemed to hold inner turmoil within him, Mikey had the glower of cynicism plastered behind his eyes, and even Spinelli...who had been the one true constant in TJ's life, her eyes were now dead almost, and she looked dismally to the ground. He'd done that to them, to all of them, to Spinelli.

TJ closed his eyes, shaking his head. He felt as though he hadn't slept in days, years even. But he had to keep pushing himself, keep going. The others looked to be in similar conditions. How had they screwed everything up so much in the past few days, the past years? Taking a deep breath, TJ clapped his hands together.

"Alright, gather round, this is the plan," he announced, and was shocked to find that they all did just that.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ stared across the street to the boathouse. It was late in the night; his parents had probably already arrived home. He'd left a note for them, but doubted it would ease their worries. The boathouse looked trashed, most likely because of the storm and the flood. The roof over the small room was missing, of course, but the rest of the boathouse seemed fairly ship shape. His breath kept catching in his throat. He hated to be alone, but he knew that he wasn't really alone. He placed his hand lightly atop the pocket in his jacket, feeling the hard plastic of the two-way radio within it. They hadn't been used in years, but they still worked.

The wind picked up and TJ wrapped his arms about himself, sighing. He pulled the radio from the pocket lifted it to his mouth.

"Are we ready?" he breathed into the speaker.

"Yeah, operation Dirty Secret is a go," Vince's voice replied, though the static sounded terrible. TJ nodded, knowing that Gus, Menlo, and at least two of the Ashleys were in visual distance. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward off of the sidewalk and walked towards the boathouse, re-pocketing the talkie.

It was cold, and warm at the same time and TJ's breath came out as small puffs of vapor. The chill wind ruffled what little hair peeked out beneath his cap. He didn't like returning there, to that small warped wooden structure. That was where Gus was taken and tortured, where himself and Clara had...

TJ shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. At that moment, he had to worry about where he was going and making sure the plan went smoothly.

Other than the four conspirators watching TJ's back, the gang was back at the gym setting up. Menlo hadn't the access to the gym they'd hoped for, which led to another plan to get the key from inside the school building. TJ hadn't been able to stick around and make sure _that_ went effortlessly, but with Vince's okay to start, he had full confidence that it was all ready.

Spinelli had been silent the entire time they set up for the plan, avoiding any eye contact with TJ, if not avoiding him all together. She was mad that she hadn't gotten her way, but knew she was the only one who could play her role, the only one who _would_ play her role, in the plan. Mostly she was mad at TJ, but he didn't say anything about it, just allowed her to avoid him, in fact staying out of her way as well as he could. He wanted to make it easier for her.

TJ stared blankly at the wooden door of the boathouse. He ran his fingers along the jutted surface. It was still damp.

"You going in or what, Teej?" Gus's static-filled voice erupted from TJ's pocket, muffled and barely audible. TJ sighed, slipped his hand atop the radio once more, and clicked it off. He didn't need it yet.

With careful movements, TJ opened the door to the boathouse, watched it swing in and stepped back as some water spilled out. With a heavy gulp, he moved slowly into the boathouse, looking about the room wearily. It was a wreck, like everything else in that town. He moved in, shutting the door gently behind him and walked through the room. Debris was scattered about upon the hard wooden floors, and with each step he took a splash of water followed. There was a table, turned on its side, the leg broken, and a wet rope strewn in the water of the lake, black caked blood on the knotted strands.

Every hair on TJ's body seemed to stand on end as he moved through the boathouse. The air smelled damp, and there was a hint of smolder. His breath came in sharply as he just nearly avoided stepping on a dead bird sprawled on the floor and continued on his trek through the room to the back door. He could hear someone, something. Freezing in place, his eyes searched the room once more.

"Clara?" TJ called tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper. Movement. TJ's heart pounded in his chest. He heard the door shut in the back room and made his way to it with stiff strides, clutching his side weakly. Again he faced a door, touching it lightly, his breath coming in with sharp gasps of pain. He opened the door.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli shook her head, wiping the sweat from her brow as she worked at moving various boxes. It had been startling to find the huge mess within the gym, but it aided their plan slightly, giving Spinelli more cover. However there needed to be some readjusting of the mess in order to work in the plan, which left her moving boxes. With the hard labor, she had discarded her heavy jacket and sweater and now stood panting in a thin undershirt staring at the empty room. She slumped atop one of the boxes, curiosity rearing within her and she found herself once more fighting the urge to open one of the many boxes and find out what was in it. They were pretty damn heavy.

With a deep sigh, Spinelli lifted herself up again, going about rearranging the boxes once more. She could hear the others outside, but it was no comfort knowing that TJ was heading right into the lair of that Clara bitch. With the way she'd been feeling, and the illness overtaking her, Spinelli needed rest, but moving around and working had always been the best way for her to heal. She couldn't lay about sipping fluids and popping pills. She'd always found it easier to work away whatever ailed her. Silence fell outside and that was almost reassuring to her. They had fallen into place, and the plan was going smoothly. Vince would come in soon to aid her, to give her the word. He was outside at the moment though, overseeing things, taking over in TJ's absence. He was, after all, the only other one that knew how everything was to play out and had enough respect from the others to direct them.

All they had left to do was wait. It hadn't taken so long, the plan that is, those fifteen years ago. But then, TJ wasn't trying to lead Mary Anna halfway through town back then, but only through the hall of one lone school. There was something eerie about the silence of that hallow gym. It was empty. The basketball hoops and climbing rope had been, undoubtedly, taken down long ago. All the equipment was gone, or, as Spinelli assumed, probably packed away in those many boxes. She rubbed her face and leaned her weight back, sighing. It had seemed an eternity since she had felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins like it was at that moment, the way it always did before she went in with "the gang" for one of TJ's many plans. It had been nearly an eternity since TJ had come up with a plan. If it weren't for the current circumstances, Spinelli would have been thrilled.

Spinelli had never loved the wait. It was the action she favored. But the wait was perhaps the most important part, as it showed TJ's careful attention to detail. But she hated this whole plan, the waiting, the action that would take place, the attention to detail, or precisely lack thereof. It wasn't exactly reassuring when TJ announced to all of them how screwed they really were. But for some reason, they all blindly trusted TJ. Maybe, just maybe, that was their biggest flaw in the plan. Their undying trust in TJ. Maybe it had been their folly all along.

"No," Spinelli whispered under her breath, "I have to stop thinking like that." The problem was, Spinelli didn't trust TJ anymore. She tensed suddenly, feeling a slight breeze from behind her and the sound of shuffling feet. Someone had just joined her in the gym. "Vince?" she called, but no answer came. She saw motion from the corner of her eye and bit her lower lip nervously. The only light in the gym was from the stars outside. Spinelli loved the stars, but in New York she couldn't even see them. She used to spend hours at night with TJ up in his tree house staring at those stars, listening to one another breath softly, and holding hands. Sometimes Spinelli would get the feeling that TJ was watching her more often then the stars on those nights.

But the stars were no comfort at that moment as Spinelli held her muscles taut, searching the shadows for any indication of the intruder's whereabouts. She slipped through the gym, alert, her heart racing as she leaned against a tall stack of boxes, and felt a warm musky hand clamp over her mouth.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ stared at the form in the room that in turn stared up at him. She sat on the bed, a placid young woman, her hair stringy waves that were once perfect curls. Her eyes shadowed with dark rings, her skin pale as milk and almost transparent in the silvery moonlight. Those large brown eyes bore into TJ's almost pleadingly. In her hand she held a doll, a shining crack traced along the face, up the cheek and across the nose.

"Clara?" TJ whispered.

"I...I..." the woman faltered, her eyes searching the floor, "I am waiting." She stroked the dolls stringy brown hair, tears welling out of her eyes, down her own dirt stained cheeks and splattering on the porcelain face.

"For what?"

"I can't tell you." She dropped the doll to the ground and stood, facing TJ with a vacant stare, blinking slightly as though breaking from a trance. "You came back." For a moment, TJ didn't understand, staring blankly at the young woman.

"Oh," he mumbled, realizing the meaning behind the words, "Yeah...I did. I...um...the flood."

"Flood..." Clara stepped forward, brushing her fingers along TJ's skin, "Can you swim?"

"Sort of," TJ shrugged, pulling away reflexively, "Uh...what are you waiting for?"

"I can't tell you," she repeated, taking his hand, "Come." She attempted to lead him back further in the room, but he wouldn't move. She turned, questioningly.

"There are things I need to know," TJ told her, "I'm going to ask you questions, and I need you to answer."

"No," Clara whispered, tracing his jaw with a trembling finger, "I'm going to talk and you are going to listen." Her hand slipped behind his neck, her skin was like ice, and TJ could feel his heart pounding desperately in his chest. There was danger in her voice, like the steely edge of a knife.

"We have to..." TJ attempted, but he was feeling weaker by the minute. And he wanted to know what she had to say.

-0-0-0-0-

For a time, Spinelli struggled against her captor, fighting the man that slipped behind her and held her still with strong arms. She pounded against the arm wrapped about her waist, clawed at the hand covering her mouth, and all the discipline and training she adhered from her years in kickboxing seemed to escape her. Warm breath berated her neck and she tried to pull away.

"Stop fighting," a voice whispered into her ear. In a fit of furry and fear, Spinelli jabbed her elbows back into soft flesh and felt her captor curl within himself in pain. She ripped from his clutches, racing for the exit of the gym, but a hand wrapped tightly about her wrist, twisting her back and throwing her against the boxes. She nearly lost her footing, but a hand snaked behind her neck, holding her steady, another covering her mouth. A face came mere inches from her own and her eyes widened in recognition. The hand came down from her mouth and she whispered only one name.

"_Mundy_?"

* * *

END A/N: I know it was short. NO COMPLAINTS! Man, I'm in a bossy mood...sheesh.

I watched the episode "Prickly is Leaving" and "Randall's Friends" the other day. HOW creepy was that? TJ, a rebel without a cause, GRETCH a GOTH! Mikey all pimply faced, and SPINELLI (I'll never get over _that_ particular trauma). BUT that episode rocked because one really big reason, TIM CURRY, the coolest voice actor ever. THOUGH, I do have problems blocking out memories of him in the Rocky Horror Picture Show whenever I hear his voice. It wasn't a bad movie, just...scary is all. Too much singing...Now, "Randall's Friends", showed a mother for him, but I like my story of his life better, so...we're sticking with it. And I guess it still fits...for now. But how frightening was that when Mr. Weems revealed to Spinelli that Randall had told his father she was in _love_ with him? I, personally, burst into laughter. Originally, I was going to have Randall in this story as one of Spinelli's admirers (yes, he too was going to reveal a love for her), but I changed my mind most specifically because I didn't feel it fit with the story, nor his character. Enough of my babble. It's getting longer than the chapter...HA.

_**MUNDY**_? Mundy, Mundy....what does he have to do with any of this? Did I just throw you all for another loop? Damn straight I did. But how is Mundy connected to any of this...did I mention him before? Did I give enough space between for you to forget TJ's conversation with his dad about the school? Only your reviews will tell.

And what does Clara have to say to TJ? Will TJ be safe, or is he completely screwed? All these questions and more will be answered, next chapter.........................................maybe.

REVIEW!

Thanks for reading, and please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

Gondor Primulon, my fellow Recess nerds. (Yeah, I saw "Lord of the Nerds" too. I'd like to meet someone out there who doesn't absolutely love Knarf. He's one tough nerd.)


	28. To Pieces Once More

A/N: I've got ten minutes before I got to go to work.

Thanks to my reviewers:

RT: I thought Mundy was dead too...it's good that you feel sorry for Clara, I want people to feel sorry for Clara, even though they don't know why they're supposed to. Rocky Horror Picture Show...shudder...though I guess you have happy memories of it so...And I doubt you're old, I mean, obviously I still remember Rainbow Brite, and I don't consider myself to be that old...hehe..

TNPD: Yes. WOW!

RavenForever: Subs suck. I'm in college though, so if the teacher doesn't come, we have no class! YAY! And no subs. Sorry you can't sleep at night because of my story. I swear, the dolls won't try to kill you...they aren't plotting your death as we speak, they don't already have plans to off you...or do they?

Sarah: _jigga-what??!?!_ um...no comment. Yeah, go back to chapter 12, that's where the conversation is.

DarkAngelGuadianLight: More mysteries to come.

mischeif-maker: okie dokie. You think you're head's spinning now. In the next few chapters, you'll be questioning everything you thought was the truth in the past chapters.

Okay, THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT GUYS!

Music recs: Tu by Shakira or Sleep by The Dandy Warhols.

I've nothing else to say so...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 28: To Pieces Once More

Vince tapped his foot slightly on the blacktop looking about. He could see Gretchen by the swing set, Ashley A. beside her. They didn't appear to be talking or even acknowledging the other's company. Mikey was atop the jungle gym, which proved a hard feat for the robust young man, but there he sat, binoculars firmly placed across the bridge of his nose, looking towards Third Street Lake. Before TJ was even halfway to the school, Vince and the rest of the conspirators would know it and already be set in place. Randall would have been a better lookout, Vince had to admit to that, but Mikey wouldn't take a more active role in the plan, and frankly, TJ didn't want him to have to take a more active role. Though, this was after all, only an elaborate mousetrap.

What would they do after they had Mary Anna, or Clara, or whomever the hell their psycho bitch was, trapped? Would they call the police? And even if they did, how could they prove any of their claims against her? Would they force her to explain why she'd done everything she'd done to them? Interrogate and torture her? As though what they'd done fifteen years ago wasn't enough? And TJ was right. Was this person they were dealing with Mary Anna, and if so, how did Mary Anna escape the gym and the fire? Or was it Brenda, as TJ had so aptly questioned? Or maybe her name really was Clara and she was someone else all together? Vince sighed, looking to the far trees where Butch was squatted in the shadows, completely invisible. Randall was nearby, and Francis was staring across the playground to Vince, looking uncertain, Ashley Q. beside him. Sam and Dave were behind the gym, their role was imperative in the plan, and that had Vince worried, and from the look on TJ's face when he left, it had their fearless leader worried as well. Sam and Dave couldn't stop bickering, and while that wasn't completely unusual, it was how they went about bickering that was. They looked ready to kill the other at any moment for no apparent reason, and it was obvious the very idea of slinking off and working with the other was regarded, amongst the two, as something truly undesirable.

Vince nearly jumped when he realized that Gretchen had joined him. And startled from his reflections, he shot her a not-so-reassuring smirk.

"This is not going to work, is it?" Gretchen asked. Vince shrugged.

"TJ says that..."

"TJ says we're screwed. Did you miss that part in the speech, or are you choosing to ignore it much like the rest of our comrades?"

"If we let it get to us, then we really are screwed," Vince sighed, shaking his head wearily, "But his speeches...is it just me or has he forgotten the pep in pep talk?"

"Now's not the time to joke," Gretchen muttered and Vince shook his head again.

"Sorry. I just...got nothing else."

"You talked to TJ I noticed."

"Obviously it didn't go well. Something tells me our friendship can't be salvaged."

"What did you expect? You came crawling back on your hands and knees begging forgiveness, and you really couldn't do that very well either. Maybe you should stick to the basketball court, because obviously you're not very good at winning in the game of life," Gretchen said, only a slight hint of snappish bitterness evident in her voice. She truly felt sorry for Vince. He was finally starting to understand what he'd done and how horrible he'd really been but he couldn't take back the things he'd said. And now TJ was appearing to have jumped on the 'I hate my life and everyone involved with it' bandwagon. There really was no hope for the old gang. They really were all torn forever, weren't they?

"Gee, thanks Gretch, any more words of encouragement, because you really are a great deal of help," Vince snapped dripping sarcasm. She rolled her eyes, turning her gaze away from him.

"You don't have to be a dick about it," she muttered.

"Sorry," he leaned back slightly, looking to the stars. People believe the strangest things about the stars. Celestial beings, angels in heaven, the dead looking down to earth, pictures painted by the gods in memorial to heroes, wish granters, fortune tellers, beacons of hope. Sailors use them as navigational tools, and just for that moment, Vince wished he were a sailor and that the stars would lead him where he needed to go, because to be honest, he had no idea where the hell he was going.

"Vince," Gretchen murmured, and he looked down, meeting her eyes, "Did you really think it was TJ's fault? What happened with Mary Anna?"

"I think I did," Vince replied, looking back to the stars, "But it's not that simple."

"I'm scared."

"Gretch...we'll be fine. Clara...whoever she is, we can't be afraid of her or she wins."

"That's not what I'm scared of."

"Then what?"

"I'm scared I'll never feel the way I felt when I was ten. I'm scared I'll never have the friendships I had when I was ten. I'm scared that I'll...that I won't be able to keep up this mirage of who I am. I'm scared that I'm not smart enough. I'm scared...I'm scared I'll never finally lose this damn battle I'm fighting against myself. I'm scared that..."

"I get it," Vince interrupted and they both fell silent, something in his voice letting Gretchen know that he was scared of all those things too. He looked down to her, studying her in the night air. She looked cold, in more ways than one, and alone. A single tree on an island in the ocean, isolated from the rest of the world. Long red hair, falling back and tussled in the wind, bangs brushing gently against her pale forehead; freckles dabbled across her cheeks and her thin-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. He slipped an arm over her small shoulders and she relaxed against him, needing the support that he offered.

"We're not perfect," Gretchen stated, as though it were something she'd suddenly realized, as though it were a new concept that she couldn't quite grasp, as though it were a mathematical equation that just didn't seem to add up.

"Nobody said we needed to be, but if it makes you feel better, you're perfect to me."

-0-0-0-0-

TJ stared expectantly at Clara for the longest time, but she seemed preoccupied with the shattered pieces of doll on the wooden floor, staring expressionless at them and pushing them around with her foot. But then, TJ wasn't in a hurry to hear what Clara had to say, nor to put operation Dirty Secret into motion, so he remained silent. For a few listless moments, the silence beat at every corner of the room and TJ hadn't the strength to will it away. Maybe he liked the silence.

"Are you...are you wondering?" Clara finally broke the still of the room with her soft voice.

"Um...about what?" TJ didn't know what else to say. There were so many things that his body and heart and mind told him to do, but then there was the little voice that seemed to make so little sense and yet sounded so damn persuasive all at once, telling him to stay and listen and hear out the obviously unstable woman.

For a moment, Clara looked about the room, her eyes rolled up, staring at the ceiling, twisting her body like a child asked where the Halloween candy went while the child's lips and hands were covered in chocolate. She puckered her lips and turned to TJ then.

"Mmm...why, wondering why?" she explained.

"Why what?" TJ prodded, exasperated and desperate for the charade of riddles to end, to finally get a straight answer.

"Never mind. If you have to ask, you don't know," She turned again, eyeing the broken doll, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" TJ said, taking a deep breath and attempting to compose himself.

"If you'll stop interrupting me," she snapped, spinning on her heel to face him again, "Daddy...daddy said not to touch the dolls, they were his. And I was a good girl, more than happy to do as he said. But Brenda! That bitch, Brenda! She didn't know how to follow the rules. It's her fault." TJ blinked, confusion evident on his face, and it only took a moment before Clara burst into a fit of giggles. She slipped her hand into his and as repulsed as he was by her touch TJ couldn't muster the strength to pull away from the chilly clutch.

"You said you had something to tell me," TJ whispered and Clara looked to the ground once more.

"Dolls, they're so...so...flawless. Little ladies with little smiles, like a secret is pursed between their lips," she said daintily, "I have a secret. And so do you." She moved away from TJ, her hand leaving his and he relaxed slightly, breathing once more. "Brenda couldn't swim. She sank, like a rock. Mama always said...sink or float." Clara turned suddenly, her fingers tracing the wood grains in the wall. She grinned broadly, cherubically, "Nobody liked her anyways, she did everything wrong. She wasn't very pretty, and she was quite stupid. That's why, that's why daddy killed Brenda, because she wasn't...she wasn't...wasn't flawless."

"What about..." TJ started, but Clara frowned deeply, and gave a sharp gasp.

"No questions," she stated peevishly, and was silent until she seemed certain that TJ would say nothing more, "So we thought...daddy, and them, they thought that Mary Anna was flawless. They were wrong. She was...a little lady, with a little smile. She would purse her lips as though she held a secret between them. But I knew better," Clara smiled slyly, her body quivering. She turned again, her face contorting, and her voice came out an odd screech, "The dead tell no secrets." She threw her hands in the air, spinning, the cotton dress she wore twirling outward, "I used to tell everyone's secrets, but daddy said not to. There are some secrets that others don't want to know!" She stopped, turning once more to TJ, her voice as innocent as a child's again, her eyes seeming to plead with him, "Are you here to take me away?"

"I..." TJ felt betrayed by his throat, catching his words. He stared blankly, startled at the young woman before him. She wasn't making any sense. Was she trying to tell him something? Did she already tell him what she'd wanted to? His pause seemed to give Clara the idea that she was supposed to continue, and she did.

"It's alright though," she told him, as though trying to reassure him of something he didn't know about, "I am flawless," she smiled, "You think I'm perfect, right? I mean, you love me, don't you?" TJ opened his mouth to say something, closed it again. He wasn't expecting that. Her eyes narrowed on him, "_Right?_ You think I'm perfect, _right?_"

"I...uh..." Lie, TJ willed himself, lie to her. _Lie to me._ He opened his mouth again, but he couldn't say the words. He couldn't lie, just as he couldn't lie to Spinelli. It wasn't right. "I love Spinelli, Clara." She seemed to crumble before him, her bottom lip trembling terribly, tears brimming the edge of her eyes. She folded into herself, clutching her stomach and sinking to the floor and gave out a wail. TJ stood completely still, afraid to move, afraid to say anything.

"Why her? _Why her?_" Clara straightened, turned her fiery gaze on TJ and seemed to compose herself, her voice steady and even, reminding TJ of the receptionist she'd been in New York, "She's a stupid bitch, everybody says so. She's not flawless. She's not...not..._perfect._ I am. So, you're wrong. You love me, and that's it."

"_You_ _said_ you had something to tell me," TJ prodded, attempting to change the subject. He didn't like talking about Spinelli with Clara, especially not in the manner the conversation was taking. She froze, turning away from him, her shoulders rising and falling slowly with her breathing, her cotton dress bunched up in her hand.

"I...I heard him talking," she whispered, "He said...he says...um..." her brow scrunched together and she squeezed her eyes shut, hair falling about her face, "He says he'll take care of things," she spun suddenly, her eyes wide, her voice shrill, "I tried, I tried..." she smiled slyly, calming again, "Well, as much as I could try with you around to distract me," her hands wrapped around TJ's neck, drawing him close to her and her ash smell and dirty face. TJ pulled away, touching her arm softly to release their hold on him. An unpleasant feeling rising in his stomach.

"Who is he?" TJ asked, almost certain he wasn't going to like the answer, but it wasn't going to make sense anyways. Her face fell, and she spun away from TJ again, crossing to the far side of the room and stepping up on the bed before turning around and coming back, her eyes moving from side to side, her lip quavering.

"He...um...he..." she stopped, her face lighting up, "He's completely consumed by the flame. Daddy said not to play with matches," she said matter-of-factly, rubbing her hands together, and flinching slightly, she giggled, twirling once more and grasping TJ's hand again, "He's burning up and doesn't even know it!" she stopped, smiling ironically, "Everybody thinks he's dead." TJ shook his head, not certain what to say. He blinked his eyes trying to refocus on why he'd come there.

"I have...um...something to show you," TJ said, glancing to the door, "Come with me," he tried to lead her away, but felt a small tug, as she stood still as a board, unmoving. And TJ's heart sank. Did she figure out what he was up to already? The look in her eyes was almost one of death.

"I'm waiting," she stated clearly, a frown creasing her lips. TJ was silent.

"For what?" he finally asked, expecting the same answer she kept giving. _I can't tell you._

"For him," she said, surprising TJ.

"Him?" TJ stuttered, "Who everyone thinks is dead?" Clara nodded. TJ made his way to the door, not liking the possible meaning behind those words. He felt her body come behind him, a hand holding the door firmly shut. In his condition, he wasn't incredibly certain he could overpower the young woman, but he had to have the confidence he could and at least try.

"He's taking care of things," she whispered, "But I'm not supposed to know. Nobody's going to get what they want, you know. Nobody. Except, maybe, me," Clara smiled, brushing her lips against TJ's, "When it's over, they'll all be dead. Even he'll be dead. But you are already dead." TJ was frozen, unable to escape her touch, her kiss, "You can't kill what's already dead." She ran her fingers along the side of his face, tracing every contour, every curve, every dip, "You're broken," she sighed, "But I'll fix you."

-0-0-0-0-

Sam sank against the brick wall of the gym; tapping his foot impatiently and glancing at his business partner Dave. They hadn't been in such close quarters in years. What with the advances in technology, they really didn't need to be.

"How's the wife and kids?" Sam spoke up, finally breaking the deafening quiet that had settled around them. Dave glanced at him wryly, and then went back to looking out towards Vince, waiting patiently for the signal. Dave had married at a young age, to the first young blonde bimbo that "fell" for him. The truth be told, the woman was probably more interested in the money Dave made then anything else. Though, she had provided him with a daughter, and then a son. The daughter was turning three in a few months, but that really didn't matter to Sam, seeing as how he'd never so much as met Dave's kids.

"What do you care?" Dave muttered and Sam had to agree with the bitterness in Dave's voice, he didn't care.

"Just making conversation," he shrugged, "It's cold."

"That's not how you make conversation," Dave shook his head, turning to his brother, "And if you wanted to make conversation, there were plenty of more opportune moments in time to make it. Particularly with those who don't detest you." Sam looked away.

"Well, at least something hasn't changed," Sam said, tapping his foot again.

"And you thought for a moment that things had changed because we're back here, back with...'_friends'_," Dave laughed cynically, "I'm trying to dispel as much loath I can so that I'm able to work with you, but if you keep 'making conversation', I don't think I can do it."

"I've been thinking," Sam continued, after a moment's pause to consider what Dave had said, "Remember what I said, before we came here."

"Honestly, Sam, I can't remember every dumb remark you make," Dave spat, but the tone in his words suggested that he did, indeed, remember.

"I don't want to take over the branch that opens out here, _if_ it opens out here," Sam went on, "I've put more thought into what I said, and it's starting to make more and more sense. The company's not the same as when we started it," Sam scratched his head, preoccupying himself with the folds in his overalls, "It's just...not what I want anymore. I'm quitting; I'm leaving the company. I'll sell you my half of it, or I'll find someone who wants to buy it." Dave sunk to the ground with those words, his mouth dropping open slightly, though Sam didn't notice.

"Why...why would you do that?" Dave asked, the words struggling to push their way out.

"I told you why," Sam shrugged, ignoring the pain and panic in his partner's voice, "It's not what I want to be a part of anymore."

"But it's our company," Dave argued, "We built it from scratch, the both of us. Our costumers want Sam and Dave, not Bill and Dave or Stan and Dave, or Bob and Dave, or whoever buy's your half of the company and Dave, or even just Dave. They expect the both of us. _We're_ the company, Sam."

"And since when has there ever been a _we_ in this company? If I recall correctly, you're the company, I'm just a digger," Sam spat, "I'm leaving, it's already been decided."

"Fine, whatever," Dave shook his head, "Go ahead, leave the company, I don't care...I don't."

-0-0-0-0-

Francis pat his jeans, watching the dust and dirt fall. He sighed, checking his watch, then pulled his cell phone from his coat pocket. He glanced at Ashley Q. standing against a tree, staring at the ground blankly.

"If you wanted to go with Ashley T., you should have went," he told her quietly.

"That would leave you with Ashley B.," came the soft reply, "I couldn't do that to you...to anyone."

"That's a first," Francis mumbled, "An Ashley thinking of someone beside herself."

"I think of the other Ashleys too," Ashley Q. snapped, "I'm not that shallow...at least, not anymore."

"Sorry," Francis muttered, "I shouldn't have said that." They were silent, fascinated by the opposite ends of the playground. "What's with your husband?" Francis finally spoke up.

"Nothing," Ashley Q. hissed, an obvious touchy subject for her. She shuddered, wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, "What about you, _Mr. Suave_? Calm and composed?"

"Ashley B.'s a bitch," Francis shook his head, "We all have problems, some of us are just better at keeping 'em to ourselves."

"It's not healthy," Ashley Q. said gently, "To hold everything inside." She met his eyes, surprised to find him watching her, "You can tell me, you know. I know I probably, like, wouldn't be your first choice...but I'm, like, actually a really good listener."

"It's not important," Francis shrugged, and they brushed shoulders as he came to lean next to her.

"Is it about Spinelli?"

"Part of it, yeah."

"I want to know."

"If I tell you...I mean, if I tell you some of my problems, you won't tell anyone. Because you can't, you can't tell anyone anything I say." Ashley Q. held up her three fingers, smiling.

"Scouts honor," she assured him. Francis smiled back, nodding, then turning his attention to the grass they were trampling with their errant steps.

"I've never been able to connect with anyone," Francis shrugged, "I mean, besides Spinelli and sometimes I feel distant from even her."

"That's not so bad," Ashley Q. started, but fell short when she noticed the haggard look across Francis's face.

"Not so bad?" he repeated sarcastically, "I wake up every morning to an empty bed, usually an empty motel room, because I'm never in one place," he closed his eyes, fighting back whatever emotions were surfacing, "Do you know what it's like? Waking up knowing there's no one in the world thinking about you? I'm a twenty-five year old man who's never experienced love, let alone sex."

"You're a virgin?" Ashley Q. questioned, the news an obvious shock. Francis clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Are you crazy?" he cried, "Don't let that get out."

"Why are you still...? I mean...I would have though that you would have..."

"I almost did, a couple times actually," Francis shrugged again, leaning back against the tree, "But they were never the right ones. It never felt right. My mind was always on something else or someone else."

"Spinelli?"

"A lot less than you'd think," Francis chuckled slightly, sadly, "Once I was with this pretty young woman, and we had candles and wine. It was fancy. We were just getting to the removal of clothes when I started thinking about my mom and wondering when the last time I called her was. Needless to say, it killed the moment for me."

"That's kind of...um..."

"It's not the way you'd think," Francis interrupted, "It's just...I haven't met a girl that can keep my undivided attention."

"You set high-standards," Ashley Q. told him, "I haven't met a guy that can give a girl his undivided attention. Was that all?"

"No, not really," Francis murmured, slumping to the ground and shocked to find Ashley Q. join him, despite the risk of getting her designer skirt dirty, "I mean, I sat there and listened to Spinelli tell me about her fears in her relationship with TJ and then Randall telling me about his own personal demons, and the whole time I'm thinking what do I know about life and love and pain and sorrow? How can I possibly help them when I don't know anything about the problems they're facing? I've fucked up my life more than anyone could ever fuck up their life.

"But what am I going on about? Maybe I'm a little full of myself. Hell, I don't know," Francis leaned his head back against the tree; "I haven't had a decent conversation with my father in years. My mother, all she ever talks about is how she wants me to meet a nice girl and settle down. They say I'm obsessed with selling things that I'm too wrapped up in my business. I'm starting to think that money is taking over my life. That's all I think about now. How much money I can make, how much money this little detour in life is costing me, how much money I'm losing just sitting here talking to you. I saw a homeless man on the side of the street asking for a spare dime and the first thought that crossed my mind was 'why don't you get a job, you worthless bum'. The guy had no freaking legs, but he bothered me for some reason. I don't know why, I just...he aggravated me, sitting there asking for a handout when some people are out there busting their asses for everything they've got."

"Francis," Ashley Q. spoke up, her voice soft and careful, "My parents gave me everything I have. I guess I can't relate to what you're saying, as I've never worked a day in my life. Does that...does that make you mad, that I've got so much and I haven't deserved any of it?"

"No, not really. It would have, maybe just a few days before," Francis looked at her evenly, "But being back here, it has an odd way of reminding you that you were a kid once and other things used to matter. But I know, that the moment I leave, it'll all be the same. An empty life.

"I don't have any friends, no one I can talk to. Like I said, I haven't really ever connected with anyone," he held her eyes for a long time before letting out his breath and saying, "I tried to kill myself once." He looked away again, his eyes shining with the evident forming of tears, "I don't know why. I mean; I don't hate my life. I have a great life, don't I? I have a lot of money; I could retire now and never have to worry another minute about money. But, I still stared at that bottle of pills as though I were locked in a prison and it were the key out. I was a coward about it too. I just wanted it to be easy and painless. You just fall asleep with pills, you know, and never wake up. I guess I felt like I was the living dead, anyways, why not finish it off."

"I didn't know," Ashley Q. whispered, her eyes studying him, "That's...kind of pathetic."

"Pathetic?" Francis chuckled morosely, "Pathetic is the fact that the one who found me was the hotel maid, a little old Latino woman who couldn't speak a word of English. She's shouting in Spanish down the hall that she isn't cleaning up a dead body. That's all I was to that woman. A mess that she had to clean up. Not a life, no, just a smudge of dirt that was going to take an extra bit of elbow grease to clean out."

"That's horrible."

"Of course, hotel management had a paramedic rush in and even they wanted it made absolutely clear that they weren't paying my medical bill," Francis laughed at the memory, "Then the doctor, when I get there, asks me why I took so many, couldn't I read the recommended dosage on the bottle. When I told her that I guess I wanted to kill myself...she just nodded like it were normal, or like she expected that from a guy who looked like me."

"I'm sorry," Ashley Q. told him, "I mean, I know what it's like, to want an easy way out of life. Ashley A. goes and talks to this therapist every week, and she once asked me if I'd like the number. Is it that obvious? I try and do things normally but...I feel like, like, I lived my whole life a right-handed person and then suddenly I have to learn to go throughout life left-handed."

"Why is that? Why do you feel like that?" Francis asked and Ashley Q.'s eyes went wide, her hand covering her mouth as though she'd said something she wasn't supposed to.

"I don't know," she whispered, "I don't know. It's nothing. I don't know why."

"I shouldn't have told you everything I did," Francis muttered, pulling himself to his feet, "I shouldn't have said anything."

"I'm sorry," Ashley Q. shrugged, wrapping her arms about her knees, "I suppose I'm not as good a listener as I thought."

"No, you did good," Francis sighed, "Just a bit too good. Can we just...I don't know...forget this conversation happened?"

"I suppose," Ashley Q. nodded, "Yeah, alright." They were silent. "Francis?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you didn't succeed...in killing yourself that is. I know a lot of people would be sad if you had."

* * *

END A/N: Hm....lot's of touching moments as well as disturbing discussions. What can the next chapter possibly bring to this spiralling mystery!

THanks for reading and please REVIEW.

M-I-C, see ya' real soon, K-E-Y, why? Because I love you! BYE-BYE!

...who's the leader of the club that's made for you and me...


	29. Recalling Flames of Old

A/N: Oi...I know I had something to say...I _know_ I did.

Thanks to the reviewers:

DarkAngelGuadianLight: I remember having to run laps in P.E. and I never came in third...though...sometimes I'd be lucky to come in third to last. Oh...but I never ran, so...I had a medical excuse that should have been more along the lines of "I'm really fat and lazy and _don't_ want to run," though it wasn't. They couldn't make me run anyways.

TNPD: My characters are constantly surprising me. Francis didn't even tell me that he tried to kill himself until mere moments before I revealed it in the story...damn him. Randall's been a surprise too, and Ashley B., that was a huge surprise...damn characters...DON'T feel connected to Francis at that moment! He felt empty and worthless, like he had no purpose, don't tell me you feel that way, because it'll make me feel badly. And someone _must _have written a Francis/Ashley Q. story at some point in time, there's a lot of weird couplings out there. I can't tell you if that's what my story will be though...

RavenForever: I want some cookie dough...pout...sniffle...oh well. Mundy, Mundy, who's got the Mundy?

mischeif-maker: p1. can't say. p2. she's obsessed with her own perfection, not perfection in general. p3. you'll find out later. you think all she needs is a psychiatrist, I think she needs a nice padded cell. And volume, lots of volume. p4. that's coming later. p5. I know the difference between multiple personality disorder and schiztophrenia (did you know that most doctors don't even believe MPD exists?) You'll find out later. p6. I never said _she_ kill Brenda, she said that 'daddy' killed Brenda. Go back and read it again. p7. It doesn't have to make sense.

xXxSarahxXx: I hope you find her creepier later on in the chapter and don't think of her as just plain insane. Last chapter had a great deal of touching moments, I hope this chapter not only confuses you, but has you laughing your ass off at parts. But then, they're just high hopes...awww...I have a biggest fan....yay...

Music Recssssssssssssss: hm...I got nothing. I been d/l some good eighties music lately though. A-ha's _Take on Me_ for instance. I had a dream end with that song playing in the background, movie style...it was weird. I also got Berlin's _Take My Breath Away_, a little Blondie, a few Bangles, and a few songs from the seventies; Cheap Tricks _I Want You to Want Me_ and a couple Janis Joplin songs. I wanted to get Joan Jett's _I Love Rock'n Roll_, (I heard Brittany Spears remade that song, what the hell is up with that?) but I couldn't get it. I also got some Aretha Franklin. Sometimes you got to take it back to the oldies, good stuff. I wanted to d/l Pat Benatar's song _Invicible_ otherwise known as the theme song to the movie _The Legend of Billie Jean_ (great movie).

_EXTRA BROWNIE POINTS FOR WHOEVER FINDS THE LINE INCORPORATED IN THIS CHAPTER THAT COMES FROM THE MOVIE **The Legend of Billie Jean**. _Okay, that's enough of my nonsensical babble. Let's get to what you all came for.

I want you to want me...I need you to need me...I love you to love, I'm begging you to...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 29: Recalling Flames of Old 

Spinelli held her body still as she watched Mundy pace back and forth. He had changed a great deal since last she'd seen him, five years ago, the day that she left with TJ. His hair was matted, no longer carefully slicked back, he'd grown a beard as well, something she'd never pictured on him. He had a tattoo carved in his neck, a symbol she didn't recognize. Not to mention he was completely dressed in black, which wasn't actually too unusual, except that he was sneaking around the elementary school gym in the middle of the night. Of course, so was she. His body was well built, and long ago he'd surpassed Spinelli's height by about a foot. He was still thin, much like Spinelli, but lined with bulky muscles. He paced, like a wild animal almost, his eyes bloodshot, beads of sweat forming on his brow, cheeks, and upper lip, dribbling down his chin. There was a large cut along his forehead, emblazoned in the twilight, and his arms, bare, were lined with severe scars. His hands, when they had clutched Spinelli she had noticed them to be calloused, rougher than she recalled. There were so many evident changes in him that she couldn't help but worry, chewing her bottom lip in the nervous fashion she was accustomed to.

Spinelli could remember that last day, those final words they'd imparted upon one another, before she'd left with TJ to Stanford, as though it had happened yesterday, or even mere hours before. She had been surprised to find him outside her window. She'd been packing while her parents were out, fewer questions that way.

"So you are going," he had spat, and the disgust was more than obvious in his voice. He had been a good kid once, but his family's history in the town, and his friends, and the expectations imposed on him by others - well, they gave him no choice but to be bad. Spinelli had known what it was like, to be looked down on as nothing more than scum and white trash. Fortunately she'd had TJ to keep her out of serious trouble. Her parents had been thrilled on her sixteenth birthday. _Our Pookie hasn't been to jail! Not like her delinquent brothers, one out of three isn't bad!_ Of course, later that night she got thrown in a town holding cell for a DUI, which she still claims to be a bogus charge. Now...if only she could remember what happened that night so she could defend herself properly.

"Huh?" she'd been surprised by the question. She wasn't aware that TJ's leaving was such big news around town, but then, she should have been. TJ was one of the most well known faces in their small town. He was popular, well liked, and the legendary troublemaker of Third Street Elementary. She'd opened the window; let Mundy in. She knew it was going behind TJ's back, keeping something of a friendship alive with Mundy, but she felt guilty, almost responsible for the troubled young man. She'd been in his place and escaped, and thought maybe, just maybe, she could help him escape too.

"With your college boyfriend?" he had pressed, entering the room. Spinelli had always had to brace herself when he entered the same room as her. He was a constant reminder of what she could have been, and more importantly, whom she could have been with. She had known, without a doubt, that if she hadn't been with TJ, hadn't loved him more than life itself, hadn't known that he loved her more than life itself, then she would have ended up with Mundy. And this knowledge haunted her.

"Oh," she had replied, though it wasn't the greatest of answers.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you going with him?" For a moment, Spinelli had seen an emotion other than anger stir in the redheaded young man. Had it been desperation maybe? Hopelessness? Pleading, was he pleading with her?

"Because I have nothing better to do," she'd replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes and returning to packing. But part of her had known it wasn't a sufficient answer so she paused, considering, "Because he asked me to."

"That's all?" Mundy had snorted, "Then just don't go."

"Because I want to," she had stated evenly, turned to him, her eyes meeting his. He had never been able to look someone straight in the eyes, but he held her gaze, a deer caught in a car's oncoming headlights.

"I don't want you to go," he had finally managed, looking away, stepping forward. He had come closer than was comfortable with Spinelli, but she'd stood unwavering.

"Hate to break this to you, Mundy, but you don't have a choice in the matter."

"I thought that for once I was getting rid of that goody-two-shoes boyfriend of yours, and maybe, I'd be getting you all to myself," Mundy had hissed, his nose inches from her own, "Maybe I'd have my chance."

"Mundy, you never had a chance, either way," had been the careful reply. The anger had resurfaced in his eyes and he had grabbed her rather roughly before she had an opportunity to retaliate or defend herself. He had pressed a kiss to her mouth forcefully, bruising her lips, teeth scraping her gum. His hands had been all over her body it seemed and she struggled against his grasp until she had been able to finally break free, pushing him away with all her strength.

"He can't give you what I can," Mundy had howled.

"What? A broken down shack on the railroad tracks and seven kids?" Spinelli had screamed in haughty reply, "You don't get it, Mundy. I'm not with him because of what he can give me, I'm with him because I love him."

"You could have loved me," and his eyes and voice had been so childish, so alone, so desperate, that for a moment, Spinelli had thought that maybe she could have. He stepped forward, leaning in to kiss her once more, but she pulled back, looking up into his eyes.

"No," she had said, "I couldn't have." And she had hoped to God that it were the truth, because she hated to lie. She had never imagined in her life that she could ever break anyone's heart, but when she'd looked at Mundy and said those words to him, she knew that she had done just that. He fell apart, turning away. Angry, frustrated, and hurt. He'd left her room without another word. And now, he stood before her in that empty dark gym, disgruntled and in as great an upheaval as ever.

"Mundy," she whispered, trying to regain his attention, "Why are you here?" He turned his eyes on her, and held an almost hungry look that startled her. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. The feelings that he always managed to make her feel resurfaced immediately.

"I could ask you the same question," he replied, his voice hoarse and dry. He still smokes and drinks heavily, Spinelli noted. He eyed her strangely and she suddenly was aware of how she must look standing there in her thin tank top. He could probably see her tangerine colored bra through it. She scanned the top of the boxes in search of her sweater, wrapping her arms about her self and rubbing her skin furiously. She crossed the gym back to her discarded clothes; slipped the large sweater over her head while scared to death at the prospect of taking her eyes off of Mundy for even a moment she clothed herself.

"I'm here..." she started, but whatever excuse she could think of fell short, "That's none of your business. You're not supposed to be here."

"You're one to talk," he spat back, and they were quiet for a moment before he spoke up again, "Have you heard about everything that's been going on?"

"The flood and fires?" Spinelli asked, straightening the sweater, and aware the entire time Mundy's eyes following her, watching her every move.

"Yeah," he muttered, moving slowly towards her. She could sense that something was wrong, "You haven't heard about...I don't know...murders?"

"No. Why?"

"Never mind," Mundy plumped down luxuriously on one of the boxes, leaning back, "How have you been?" Spinelli came to sit near him, not certain what else to do, and seeing nothing wrong with exchanging friendly conversation. They'd gotten along before, too troubled teens, despite Mundy's grievances towards TJ. Mundy was addictive for Spinelli. He was danger, and danger had always struck a cord of familiarity for her.

"I've been fine. What have you been doing, Mundy?" she asked.

"I got a job at the school, as a janitor," he told her, "Nothing fancy, like the job I bet your little boyfriend got." Spinelli lowered her eyes, reminded of TJ and what he'd done, "What about you?"

"I'm an artist," she shrugged, "And a part-time waitress."

"An artist, huh? I always knew those pictures you drew would get you somewhere," Mundy smirked, no doubt reminded of the doodles that constantly covered Spinelli's notes and binders throughout junior and high school, "What brings you back here? I thought you'd gone off to live happily ever after with your boyfriend."

"I came for a visit," she said, fidgeting slightly.

"That sucks," Mundy muttered, "I mean, I bet the old town isn't the way you remember it."

"Yeah," Spinelli relaxed, "What with everything going on...I knew things were going to be bad, but I wasn't expecting things to end up like this."

"Like what?"

"Teej and me have been fighting since we got here and...I never told my parents about us...so that didn't help," she ran the back of her hand along her brow, "And then it won't stop raining, and then suddenly everyone else is back in town, all my least favorite people in the world and...they want to be friends again, or stir up old memories. I don't know. Then the flood..."

"Yeah, that was a bad one," Mundy nodded, resting the back of his head against the pile of boxes behind him and closing his eyes, "Can't say we've had too many like that lately."

"I want to get out of here, run away again, but I don't have the guts to go back to New York, not after everything me and Teej have been fighting about," Spinelli sighed, settling into the conversation. She was starting to slip into that comfort Mundy was offering. He had never been the type she talked about her feelings with, that had always been Francis or TJ, but she had neither at the moment and she needed to talk to _someone_.

"And with that event cancelled you practically came back here for nothing,," Mundy muttered and Spinelli nodded.

"Yeah, all because of a little floodwater too," she twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

"Are you going to school?"

"Yup, on an Art scholarship. Can you believe it? Me, going to a high profile institution?"

"Naw, I really can't see you hitting the books," Mundy laughed, "I couldn't do that, myself. I bet you threaten to beat the teacher up if he doesn't give you an 'A'."

"Who? Me?" Spinelli blinked innocently, "Never."

"Though, this still doesn't tell me why you're _here_, here," Mundy finally sighed, his eyes flashing open as he straightened. Spinelli's eyes widened, she'd forgotten for a moment why she was there. Mundy had always had a way of making her forget about all her responsibilities.

"Shit, I have to finish moving these boxes," she muttered, pulling herself up, turning about and looking around wearily.

"Moving these boxes?" Mundy mused, "You look like crap, kid, and you're moving these heavy things?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess it is good that that tournament was cancelled..." she trailed off, her back to Mundy, her words catching in her throat, "I didn't tell you about the tournament."

"I never said anything about a tournament," his voice seemed closer. Spinelli closed her eyes, trying to steady her once again pounding heart and uneven breathing.

"Yes, but you mentioned that the reason I was here was cancelled, and I never told you why I was here..." she turned, surprised that he was already on his feet, "You were the one that attacked Vince and me in the rain." A smile slid across Mundy's face.

"You have to admit, I had you fooled for a minute, chatting it up like old times," he chuckled. Spinelli spun around, breaking into a sprint for the front door of the gym. She only made it halfway before Mundy caught her, his arms wrapped tightly about her, one hand covering her mouth before she could call out for help. She struggled against him, but it was useless, he always had been able to overpower her. She could feel his warm, musky breath against her neck, his free hand slipping beneath her sweater resting heavily on her belly.

"Scream and I kill you," he whispered into her ear, "And I don't want to kill you yet, that would screw up all of my plans." Spinelli squirmed beneath his touch, disgusted. "You won't scream, right?" She struggled, and he tightened his hold on her, jerking her slightly, "_Right?_" She nodded, giving in, and slowly his hand came from her mouth.

"You plan to kill me?" Spinelli asked. He brushed his cheek against her own, never letting go of his hold on her. She didn't like the position they were in, his body pressed firmly against hers.

"Don't get me wrong, Spin, if there were any other way," Mundy's lips touched her jaw line, "But...well...there isn't. I mean, look at it this way, if you want to go about it romantically, well, if I can't have you, no one can." He laughed harshly, as though it were all just a joke.

"Then just kill me now," she hissed, trying unsuccessfully to keep the fright out of her voice. She didn't even want to think of the possible reasons Mundy would have for keeping her alive with every intention of offing her.

"Well, Spinelli," Mundy said, his lips brushing her ear and she squirmed, trying to turn from him, to pull away from his unwelcome touch, "I, kind of, consider you a friend. And to be frank, I feel that you deserve some sort of explanation. I'm sorry I fooled you back there, but I couldn't help it. You don't know the joke, but...uh...you see," he dropped his voice as though what he were saying were a great secret and the walls had ears, "I'm supposed to be dead."

"What?" Spinelli demanded, scrunching her nose, "What do you mean?"

"Can you believe it? They shut this whole school down because I was dead," Mundy chuckled maniacally, his lips against Spinelli's shoulder, "Well, they thought I was dead. You can see, I'm not."

"Let go of me, Mundy, this...this isn't funny," Spinelli scowled, as Mundy forcefully lifted the sweater over her head, winding her hands in it, pulling them back over her head, and holding his arm around her waist.

"Isn't it though? Spinelli, the toughest kid in Third Street Elementary history, tougher than any boy. The stuck up bitch girlfriend of everybody's favorite, the ever popular, TJ Dettweiler, and I have her all tied up," Mundy laughed heartily, finding this extremely hilarious, "I can do anything I want with you, you know? Have you any idea how many guys at school would have loved to have you in this exact position? I bet you didn't. Even guys you thought were your closest friends were having the dirtiest thoughts about you..." He sank his teeth into the flesh of her shoulder and she cried out, until he released, the tissue unbroken, kissing the bruised skin, "Right now, though, I just want you to listen. I think it's only right that someone know why I'm doing this. And I...uh...picked you...because sweetheart, you know I'm a real sucker for that pretty face of yours."

"Vince is going to burst in here any minute, you know, and then TJ and he's not going to take well to you harassing me like this," Spinelli tried warning, hoping that she sounded confident enough.

"That's a good one," Mundy said against her skin, "Don't you think I took care of that, made sure we won't be interrupted?"

"What did you do?" Spinelli whimpered, panic rising in her throat.

"Nothing. Nothing to him, if that's what you're thinking. It's not part of the plan. Isn't it nice, me making plans, like that boyfriend of yours? Except my plan's better, because it'll work," Mundy dragged Spinelli back into the gym, pressing her against a pile of larger boxes, burying his nose in her neck, "I bet you're wondering why I want everyone dead. What possible reason could good ol' Mundy have for knocking off a group of kids, in almost all ways unrelated to each other and Mundy himself, save for the fact they're all from Third Street? Now, if you'll stop struggling, I'll tell you, I'll tell you everything. And please, don't make me have to kill you, honestly, I don't like straying from my plans."

-0-0-0-0-

Randall cleared his throat, glancing at Butch, the disheveled heap hiding in the shadow of the great oak tree they'd staked as their lookout. It bothered Randall, how unmoving the young man was, as well as how wrinkled his shirt was and how mussed his hair.

"What?" Butch hiccupped, not even bothering to look up, or even move in the slightest. There was really no way of even knowing if the man was alive, and if Randall hadn't seen him moving only moments before, he would have been completely convinced that he was staring at a lifeless corpse.

"What do you mean what?" Randall demanded, paranoia rising. Butch stirred, and Randall had the odd sensation to shout out 'It's alive, it's alive', but somehow he controlled that urge. The young man looked up at Randall with half-closed eyes, and clear disinterest.

"You made that 'ahem' noise. Did you have something to say, or are you just trying to annoy me?" Butch muttered.

"I think I'm trying to annoy you," Randall conceded, "But then, you're annoying me, so, it's only fair."

"How do you figure that? I'm not doing anything to you."

"Well, you could straighten you're collar, that would give me a little peace of mind. And you're hair, do you brush it ever?"

"You're insane," Butch said flatly, shaking his head, then lowering it again. Randall rolled his eyes, and then cleared his throat again. "Are you gonna keep doing that?"

"I can't, it's not easy to do if you don't have to," Randall shrugged, stamping his foot and frowning at the dirt cloud that puffed up.

"If you think you're going to buy pity points from me because you've completely flipped your lid, you're wrong," Butch murmured, glancing at the rising dirt from over his arm, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. I have it on good authority that this playground was built over an Indian burial ground, disturbing the final resting place of several Cherokee warriors wouldn't be a wise idea."

"Humph," Randall snorted, "That's a load of bull if I ever heard it. The Cherokee never lived in this state." Though, he did make a noticeable effort not to move around as much.

"How long do you suppose this'll take," Butch spoke up, coughing, "I have a lecture in Washington on Tuesday."

"Tell me about it. I have a contract to fulfill by Monday," Randall put in, and Butch raised an eyebrow.

"Contract?"

"Yeah, I'm a...an agent, and I need a signature from a client," Randall said between clenched teeth. It wasn't really a lie.

"Whatever," Butch mumbled, "I guess you beat me in necessity to get the hell out of here."

"Lectures take longer than a contract," Randall said, shifting his weight, "I need, what, a minute, thirty seconds?"

"Doesn't your client have to read over the contract?"

"Yeah, but...uh...that doesn't take long," Randall rubbed the bridge of his nose. He never had been any good at coming up with cover stories. It was a good thing his missions always began and ended with a gun, "So what's you're deal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, everyone seems to be dealing with their demons," Randall shrugged, "The Ashleys have marital issues, the diggers are dishing out a lot more than sibling squabble, Vince needs anger management, Menlo still lives with his mom; which is whole other can of worms there, and..."

"How do you know all of this?" Butch raised an eyebrow at the younger man. Randall shrugged, knocking some dust from his jacket.

"I guess I never really did grow out of my snitching ways...I pick things up, all the little dirty secrets on people," Randall's eyes went downcast, his arms falling limp and voice dropping, "Even if sometimes there are things I don't want to know."

"Well, there's nothing to know about me and if anyone tells you different, they're liars," Butch snapped, before huddling into himself again.

"Okay," Randall closed his eyes, sighing deeply, "I didn't want to talk anyways."

"Then why are you still doing it?"

"I don't like the silence. It reminds me of death."

"Fine, I'll talk," Butch straightened, "I ever tell you about when Jimmy Crabmer..."

"_No_ scary stories, please!" Randall moaned.

"Why not? Scary stories, are, well, they ease the atmosphere," Butch chuckled.

"In _what_ way?"

"They remind you that there isn't something lurking in the shadows waiting to maul you. They remind you of the games your mind can play on you, and that they're just that, games. They remind you...they remind that you're still alive."

"We're living in a scary story, Butch," Randall shook his head, shifting through his coat, and finding a pack of cigarettes, "I really don't need any more of a reminder of how alive I am considering there's some psycho out there wanting to show me how dead I can be." He held the pack out towards Butch in offering.

"No thanks," Butch shook his head, lifting his sleeve up to reveal a patch, "I'm _trying_ to quit. You know it's illegal to smoke on school grounds, right?" Randall smirked slightly as he lit the cigarette up.

"It's not that I think I'm above the law," he said, taking the cigarette between his forefinger and thumb, and blowing out the smoke in a steady stream, "Maybe it's that I think I'm so much lower than it."

"Depends on what kind of agent you are. Because my insurance agent is a real crook," Butch muttered and Randall knocked a few ashes from the tip of his cancer stick.

"I'm a lot worse than that, trust me," he frowned, running a stray finger along the riveted handle of his gun. Butch's eyes followed the movement, his face one of disturbance.

"But you're not gonna talk. Fair is fair," Butch shrugged, "I don't talk, and you don't talk."

"There's nothing to know about me," Randall mumbled, scratching the side of his head, and smirking slightly, "And any one who would tell you different is either dead or sworn to secrecy as a matter of national security."

"That's a good one," Butch laughed stiffly, "I should use it sometime," he glanced out warily towards Vince, who stood in the middle of the playground surveying things with hawk eyes, "Man, what is taking Dettwieler so damn long?"

They sat in silence. Randall taking long drawn out hits on the shortening cigarette, and Butch settling back into a balled up position, nothing more than a lump beside a tree. Neither of them seemed to notice when another figure joined them.

"What are you two doing? Shirking your duties, no doubt?" Both young men jumped, startled into alertness and shooting sour looks towards the goofily dressed man with the thick, black-rimmed glasses.

"Jesus Christ, Menlo, what the hell is wrong with you?" Randall spat, frowning unhappily at his dropped cigarette that had burnt out on the ground when he started.

"Honestly, Randall, you have the mouth of a bad tempered sailor," Menlo shook his head, "And that," he pointed to the sizzling white butt on the ground, "Is not only littering, it's a...that's a cigarette. Are you smoking on school grounds? I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to confiscate the rest of your pack, that is an infraction of..."

"Can it, Menlo," Randall muttered, shaking his head, and bending down to pick up the discarded cig, he looked to Butch and sighed wearily, "Tell me I wasn't _that_ bad."

"Oh, you were worse," Butch reassured him, slumping back into his slacker position, "What are you up to, Menlo?" The lanky young man fell into to the ground cross-legged beside Butch, the large puffy coat he wore engulfing him, so that only his head was visible, making it appear fairly tiny.

"I was going to sit with Gus on guard detail outside the boathouse, but that Griswold...I turn my back for one second and he's disappeared. Then I thought to sit with Mikey on lookout duty, but...well that structure does not look sturdy enough to hold Blumberg's weight alone, and to add my own miniscule amount...let's just say I was not willing to risk it. I tried to reason with LaSalle, that with my smaller body mass I proved to be the more suitable choice as watcher...but he has no common sense whatsoever," Menlo sighed, "Now, you see, if any of you get caught out here, what happens to you? Huh? Nothing, a slap on the wrist for trespassing, maybe breaking and entering when it comes to the gym, there might even be a slight scandal, a little news coverage. But me? _What happens to me_? I could lose my job over this, you know, or far worse. I have to live in this town, mind you. Dettwieler needs to hurry back here so we can get this darned, excuse my language, plan in motion. If mother discovers I'm not home..."

"I forgot you were out past your bedtime," Randall snickered.

"Silence, Weems," Menlo growled, "Just because some of us have a good relationship with the woman who bore us..."

"What do you know?" Randall snarled, stepping forward menacingly.

"Miss Finster really was a poor replacement for a mother. I highly doubt that ogre-ish woman even knew what a hug was. _And_ I doubt that bumbling father of yours even knew what to do should you wake up in the middle of the night with a bad dream, or such," Menlo bemused, studying his fingernails with indifference.

"You leave Miss Finster out of this...and you don't know shit about my father," Randall stammered in frustration, "And...and...and _I_ _never_ had bad dreams!"

"Hey, ladies, could you keep the volume to a minimum," Butch spoke up, glowering at the two bickering men, "Because honestly, I don't give a damn about either of your family lives." They looked away, embarrassed, slightly ashamed. Randall pulled another cigarette from his coat, which received him a disapproving frown from Menlo.

"It is somewhat pleasant to see what's become of our old schoolmates, of course. Somewhat humbling to say the least," Menlo went on, "Ah...and that delicate flower, Ashley A., she's only grown with more beauty." Butch and Randall raised eyebrows at him, and then turned to one another.

"You got a girl, Randall? Someone stup...er...finally see the Weems charm?" Butch asked.

"_No_," Randall snarled, then muttering, "Thank God."

"Oh, and why not?" Menlo questioned, attempting to flatten his coat, then raising an eyebrow at the younger man, "You're not one of _those_ kinds of men are you?" Randall and Butch stared at him blank faced and then broke into laughter.

"_One of those kinds of men?_ What's that supposed to mean," Butch gasped through his laughter.

"Well, you know what I'm talking about."

"No, why don't you clarify for us," Randall struggled to say through his sniggering.

"Well..." Menlo dropped his voice to just above a whisper, "A eunuch." Both men stopped laughing, their faces falling into shock.

"A what?" they stated in unison.

"Oh, honestly, do I have to explain everything to you?"

"Please don't," Butch whimpered.

"I am _not_ a eunuch." Randall hissed, taking a deep drawl from his cigarette and wiping anxiously the sweat from his brow. Holding the lit cigarette between his teeth, he went about scouring his coat again, producing a thin silver canteen.

"What's that?" Butch perked up.

"Water," Randall answered slyly with a mischievous grin, "But I don't doubt you gave up drinking, too."

"Yeah, I gave up drinking," Butch smirked, "Like the Irish give up drinking. Pass it over."

"What are you two up to?" Menlo shook his head, "Randall Weems I would have expected better from you. Smoking on school grounds and drinking while you're supposed to be alert and ready! I am not going to sit for this! I will have to confiscate that canteen, even if it just water, as it is a violation of the trust of..."

"Just shut up and take a drink," Butch spat, shoving the silver object beneath Menlo's nose, "It'll warm ya' up..."

"It does smell rather..." Menlo followed the canteen with greedy eyes, "Different...mother would not approve of me sharing a bottle with others..."

"Mother's not here right now," Randall grinned as the jaded man snatched the canteen and eyed the opening with curious uncertainty. He _was_ thirsty after all, and if it was just water, there could be no harm, and it wasn't like he couldn't keep watch while taking a drink. He raised it to his mouth and took a deep gulp. His eyes crossed and he spat the liquid out in a coughing fury.

"What is this?" he demanded, choking and gasping for air, staring with heated distaste at the silver bottle, "_A joke_? That is _not_ water."

"Fire water, maybe," Butch snorted.

"Whiskey," Randall shrugged as though it were no big deal, "Straight whiskey." Butch broke into an uproar of laughter, taking the bottle for himself and sipping it steadily. He coughed slightly, handing the canteen back to Randall, and shaking his head.

"Whoa," Butch gasped, "That's strong stuff." With a nod, Randall took a sip himself. Menlo shook his head at the two men. He tried chuckling it off as though he'd known it were alcohol the entire time and was simply playing along with their joke.

"I can't believe you're all back here," Menlo wondered aloud, "It sort of makes me...I don't know..."

"Nostalgic?" Butch suggested, grabbing the canteen from Randall once more.

"Yeah, that," Menlo chuckled, accepting the bottle again though sipping more slowly and cagily. He still made a puckered face, but fought the urge to repel the bitter tasting liquid from his mouth. He didn't want the other men to think of him as a little boy. He thought to tell them he had drunk before, but he didn't think sneaking a wine cooler from his mother's stash at the age of twenty-three would impress them too greatly. He hadn't even been able to finish _that_. "Though it's odd," he continued, "You can't tell me you _ever_ imagined you'd be acting all buddy, buddy with Randall, here, Butch."

"Can't say I have," Butch agreed, "That, and sipping drinks with you. Are you sure you can handle this stuff, it is a man's drink?"

"I am a man, you half-witted clod," Menlo snapped, but found himself breaking into a fit of giggles, his cheeks flushing. Randall and Butch exchanged glances.

"After one sip, we have to cut him off?" Butch chuckled, "The guy can't hold his alcohol, that's for certain."

"If anything's making me nostalgic, it's this plan of Dettwieler's," Randall sighed, letting a stream of smoke escape from beneath his breath.

"Nostalgic? It's similar to the first plan, but everything's so warped," Menlo shook his head, "We're sitting ducks out here, you know. How do we know that this...crazy woman, won't try to attack us here." His face was pale, depicting a look of all seriousness, tears shining on the edge of his eyelids, "You want to know a secret?"

"Sure, why not," Butch straightened.

"I don't know," Randall mumbled, "What kind of secret?"

"Well, I know that you know that I know the truth," Menlo tittered, his face breaking and his cheeks a bright pink.

"He's drunk," Butch told Randall with amusement and a slight bit of concern.

"Of course," Menlo went on, unzipping his large coat, "I knew that Mary Anna isn't."

"Isn't what?" Randall pressed, perking up at the mention of the little girl that haunted their pasts and had brought them all together that day.

"Mary Anna," Menlo replied simply, and then burst into laughter again, "You forget," he went on between giggles, "That I was in charge of all the permanent records. I knew practically everything about everyone in that school, and I still remember all of it. I remember every file that's ever passed my nose..." that caused him to start laughing again, clutching the silver canteen and taking another sip, "Oh my," he gasped, "I suppose I should have started a filing system according to _smell!_" Randall grabbed Menlo up to his feet, the canteen falling to the ground, which Butch quickly gathered up, standing himself. Randall threw the drunken young man to the tree, pressing him there, clutching the man's collar, and scowling.

"What do you know of Mary Anna?" he demanded, "And this better not be something that would have been useful to us before we even started out here!"

"Oh..." Menlo moaned, stricken sober with fear "It wasn't, I assure you! It wasn't a great deal, I tell you! I knew very little! I just...I knew that Mary Anna wasn't her name! At least, it wasn't Mary Anna James."

"Let him go," Butch commanded, "He's talking, there's no reason to treat him so roughly." Randall nodded, loosening his grip. Menlo slid to the ground, coughing, his face splotched red and white.

"Her file was new," he sniveled, "I just...I'm not nosy, I just, was curious is all. I didn't even realize...oh god!" Butch knelt down in front of the young man, taking a quick swig of the canteen, wiping his mouth and patting Menlo's shoulder, looking the drunk man over, sighing heavily, shaking his head, then taking another gulp of the whiskey.

"Alright, Menlo, tell us everything you do know," Butch finally gathered the will to say, his voice hoarse, "And I mean everything." And Menlo nodded, sobbing silently.

* * *

END A/N: Poor naive Menlo...I wonder what Menlo and Butch's demons (besides the fact Menlo still lives with his mother) are. They assure me they'll tell me next chapter. I wonder what Menlo could possibly know about Mary Anna too. Now, for those of you confused, Spinelli wasn't there when they found out about Mundy's supposed death. Don't believe me? Go back and read it again, it's chapter 12, the middle. 

ALSO for those of you reading Killing the Daisies, I'm probably going to be uploading it's chapters faster (because it's going to be longer than I planned, though nowhere near as long as this one) but that doesn't mean I'm going to be leaving WSL untended. I just don't want people thinking I'm losing interest in this one, because I'm not. I still love it as much as always. And those of you wondering about In A Box, I'll start writing it as soon as I post the last chapter of WSL.

ACK! It's almost All Hallow's Eve, damn! I have to write a scary story! WHY? Because it's tradition. That may put off my updates for a little time...but NO WORRIES! Wouldn't it be nice if I finished this in time for Halloween? Ah...to dream...

Please **_REVIEW_**, and excuse any grammatical and typing errors. **_REVIEW_**, _**REVIEW**_ (three times the charm...heh...)

THANKS FOR READING. And, because I recieved my Inu Yasha, volume 13 recently, and was finally able to read 14 and 15, I feel I should part with a quote from there. (For those of you who don't know what Inu Yasha is, I pity you.)

From volume 14:

Kaede: Inu Yasha and Kagome had a fight? Surely that's not news.

Shippo: But...this one feels different...this one feels ominous to me...

Miroku: Really? It feels **stupid** to me.

Inu Yasha: (kicking the well) Feh. Good Riddance.

I know. I know. I'm a loser.

monkman says Bleh. END IT ALREADY!

OKAY, okay....grumble...grumble...


	30. The Ramblings of Fools or Foolish Rambli...

A/N: I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO FRELLING LONG! I just had my mind on other things, and I was having so much difficulty piecing this chapter together in my head!!!! I have the last chapters all outlined though (there's six more), just so you know.

We're on chapter 30, make a wish and hold your breath until you finish reading, and that wish'll come true! NO SKIMMING EITHER!

THanks to those who reviewed:

RavenForever: I didn't say I watched Inu Yasha, I was reading it (my graphic novels, alas where would I be without them?) I haven't watched Inu Yasha in a long time, though, I can watch it anytime I want really, because I have most all of the episodes in fansub. YAY ME. I hope this chapter meets all your demands, and yet, still leaves you craving more.

RT: Baseball? AStros? Sorry you're team lost. Um...yup, most dirty secrets, coming right up!

xXxSarahxXx: What would you define as everything? Because Menlo knows...well...he knows enough. Yeah, I love Butch too, but I love all these characters. I wouldn't be writing this fanfic if I didn't...you know...torturing them, hunting them down, people with the very intention to kill and hurt them...I love the characters...

TNPD: Yeah, a DUI at sixteen, what a way to get your license confiscated...probably the same day she got it too...Menlo's a little on the odd side and Mundy...oi...Mundy, Mundy...

mischeif-maker: If you like drama you should read my new story, Killing the Daisies...um...er...I'm not promoting my other stories...(-shifty eyes-)...oi...I'm _**sooooo verrrry sorrrry**_ it took so long. I am. Please don't go insane...-er.

DarkAngelGuadianLight: Darn sisters. Useless unless you need a punching bag...review more next time and maybe, _**MAYBE**_, I shall forgive you.

iluvdanbyrd: (yay! a new reviewer!) Thanks for your compliments...mmm...is Dan Byrd isn't the dude from One Tree Hill is he? What's he look like...?

Music Recs: Pull out something haunting and eerie...instrumental, with no lyrics. Like maybe the Titanic Soundtrack, excluding the song by what's her name, Celine Dion (?)...or maybe Enya.

Fools rush in and...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 30: The Ramblings of Fools or Foolish Ramblings 

TJ stilled himself against Clara's touch, uncertain of what else to do. She seemed fine standing there beside him, grinning up at him through her strings of matted hair.

"Do you know what Sleeping Beauty and Snow White had in common?" Clara questioned, her body blocking the door.

"I don't know," TJ whispered, "Disney made movies out of both of them?"

"They were both perfect, but they were asleep...like dolls. They didn't understand how perfect they were until their prince came to rescue them. You're my prince. Of course, you're my prince. I'm perfect, and I just needed you to kiss me to wake me up so I knew that I was perfect."

"Clara..." TJ started, "I'm not your prince."

"Oh, but you are," Clara reassured him, "My prince charming here to rescue me, to make me realize how perfect I am. To love me and marry me..."

"But Spinelli..." TJ started.

"Why do you keep talking about her?" Clara snapped, her voice an edgy scream, "She's going to be dead in a minute!" She gasped, her eyes went wide and her hand flew to her mouth, "Oops...wasn't supposed to say that..."

"What do you mean?" TJ demanded, "Tell me," he grabbed the small woman's shoulders, shaking her, "What do you mean by that?"

"Stop it..." she whimpered, "He...he said...he said the first to die...a woman whose heart hath scorned him!" TJ released her, stepping back.

"_What_ do you _mean_?"

"I don't understand what he sees in her. He's always going on about how _'she should have loved me'_, _'she should have stayed'_, _'she never should have left'_, _'if she'd have stayed she'd have been mine, I could have had her'_. I don't know why. She's not perfect," Clara moaned in explanation, "He said that it was alright now, though, that she chose wrong, because it suits his plans better. Because he has to kill her anyways."

"Do you mean kill her, like Brenda and Mary Anna were killed?"

"No. They were dolls; they simply shattered. But she's not a doll, not like Mary Anna and Brenda were," Clara said casually, shaking her head, "I think he wants to chop her head off...but I can't be certain. He may not, because he might want her body intact, I don't think he could stomach beheading his beloved. Maybe he'll stab her, make her bleed a lot. Or perhaps he'll strangle her...that seems the most likely. He likes to touch her, he _wants_ to touch her, and so he'll probably strangle her with his bare hands. I wish I could watch. I mean, she tried to take what was mine, being the bitch that she is. I would truly enjoy watching the life leave her. She would turn pale, and gray. Her body would be like rubber at first, but then over time it would become as hard as a board, and you couldn't move it without fear of the brittle corpse crumbling in your hands. I know much about death." TJ took a few deep breaths, struggling for air.

"What?"

"Well, if you've seen as much death as I have," Clara clucked, then frowned, "But you haven't. You will, because they'll all die. It's all part of his plan. She just happens to be first. If it were me, she'd go last, I'd make her watch the others die. I'd make her watch to the very moment that the light left their eyes. So that she could suffer. Death is meaningless without suffering. Daddy always said that the life is in their eyes. Nothing else matters but those eyes. Perhaps, if it were me, I would carve her eyes out and place them in a doll. She has such pretty eyes..." TJ felt a heaviness in his stomach, rising bile, and disgust. All he could think of was Spinelli, all he could do was stand staring blankly at the unmoving woman in front of him with the morbid fixation on death.

"Clara, where is he?"

"With her. In the place where the first fires burned, where it all started, at the beginning," Clara smiled. Mustering what strength he could, and taking Clara by surprise, TJ pushed her aside, flinging the door open and racing into the damp night air, the thoughts racing through his mind were of getting to Spinelli. "You won't make it in time," Clara called after him, "She'll be dead before you get there. You'll be too late!" But he wasn't listening. She frowned, looking back into the boathouse, "Darn. Sometimes you just have to take matters into your own hands. Now, where did I put that axe...?"

TJ ripped the radio from his pocket, clicking it on, "Gus?" he called into it, "Vince? Ashleys? Anyone?" But he received nothing but static, "Someone answer!" He shoved the radio back into his pocket, certain that those watching him were already aware of his leaving the boathouse. But he had to get to the gym, he had to get to the others and warn them that Clara wasn't alone; he had to get to Spinelli.

-0-0-0-0-

Mundy took a moment to light up a cigarette, smiling cruelly at Spinelli who sat tangled with her sweater above her head and bound with tape, sprawled along the floor. He stepped over her, straddling her body, looking down into her face with a malicious smirk, and letting smoke escape from his lips and nostrils. He smoked the kind wrapped in brown paper that emitted a thick sweet smelling smoke, which Spinelli hated.

"Where to begin...where to begin..." Mundy mumbled, holding the cigarette between his lips, and puffing the smoke out from the side of his mouth.

"Why are you doing this?" Spinelli asked, stuggling beneath him to pull herself up into a less vulnerable position.

"Hey, that is a good place to begin," Mundy chuckled, taking the cigarette from his lips, holding it casually between his middle and index finger, and scratching his chin, "Let's see...I guess it's 'cause of what you guys know."

"What do you mean what we know?" Spinelli demanded, "We don't know anything that could hurt you!" Mundy chuckled malevolently, leaving her and taking a long drag from his cigarette.

"Well, it started in a gym, much like this gym," Mundy exclaimed, throwing his arms out to indicate the building they were in, "But it wasn't this gym...and that gym, burned down, with a little girl inside." Spinelli felt her stomach lurch with dread. How did he know that? "Now...can you imagine?" Mundy bent down next to Spinelli, his hand resting on her belly, lifting her tank up slightly to reveal the flesh, and he trailed his fingers along her stomach. "A little girl, screaming, begging, pleading for help. Crying in agony from the scorching pain of the flame...I don't have to imagine, myself, you see, I've heard it."

"You..." Spinelli mumbled, her eyes flashing with realization, "You're the arsonist, you're the one that started that fire all those years ago. Why, Mundy? Why?"

"You know how it is, babe," Mundy muttered, examining that exposed skin that he was gently caressing, "With the flick of a match, everything's up in smoke!" He grabbed her chin with his hand, grasping it tightly, lifting her slightly, and she gasped with the pain and shock, "I was sneaking a smoke out behind the school, you see, where that old hag Finster wouldn't find me. I threw a match into the trashcan, and it burst into flames, real small, like it'd blow out any minute. You'd never seen a prettier sight. So I got more matches, worked the fire, it was mine to control. Then the...the gym, something happened, I guess I got too close to the building...I didn't mean to at first, but then the fire...it was so amazing.

"You would have loved to see it, because you think like me. I watched as the gym was slowly engulfed in these flames...they were dancing almost. Eating everything..." Mundy went on, pushing Spinelli back to the floor, "That's when I heard it...inside the building, a screaming. I ran to the front door, looked into the glass and saw her. I tried to open the door, but it was locked, so all I could do was stand and watch. She stood amongst the flames like...like a ghost. Her dress caught on fire, and she ran, screaming and crying and she was out of my sight. I knew I should have gone to get help, but I couldn't...I had to watch...I wanted to watch the fire do it's work. Then I heard the sirens, and I took off."

"Mundy...we didn't know..." Spinelli started, but she stopped, shocked when he lifted her to a sitting position, kneeling over her, his eyes boring into her own.

"But you did," he snapped, "She came to me, she told me you did."

"Who?" Spinelli cried out.

"The little girl. She said that there was a list...a list of everyone who knew," Mundy grinned, pressing his lips into Spinelli's clavicle, blowing his warm breath into her shoulder, "She showed me where it was, told me I had to kill all of you. She haunted me, followed me everywhere...she would tell me...she would tell me that it was their fault, those people on the list, that I had to suffer. She told me I had to kill all of you or she'd never rest." He grimaced, ran his fingers along Spinelli's cheek, rested his hand against her hip. "She said you had to die, especially you. I wouldn't do it, you know, I fought her for so long. I didn't want to kill you, you were the only one who cared about me." He pulled back, as though burned by her skin, looked away, "But then you left with that bastard boyfriend of yours, and I knew...I finally gave in...I finally had to give in..." His eyes lit up and he came close to Spinelli's face, close enough that she could feel his warm breath against her lips. "That's when I came up with my plan. It started when everyone thought I was dead...I knew I had to lure all of those on the list back here. Yes, even your tournament was a part of my plan. It wasn't that difficult to set up, I just sent your gym notification of a tournament in our small town, and you came flocking."

"What?" Spinelli demanded.

"I knew you couldn't pass up the challenge," Mundy grinned, a cold harsh flash of teeth, "I know you too well." He stood up, walked away from Spinelli, behind boxes out of her vision. "Now you understand. I have to...I have to make her leave me alone...she won't let me be alone...I have to redeem myself...she said this would redeem me and I could go to heaven...can you see it? _Me_? _In heaven_? She said all of you would go to hell...I'm sorry babe, but you're going to hell...but _I'm going to heaven_." Spinelli struggled within her sweater, trying to free herself but only managing to tighten her bonds, "I have to let her rest. I have to give her what she wants. I don't want the blood on my hands...I don't...I don't want your blood on my hands...but I have to...I have to do this...It won't be painful for you, it'll be quick. I don't want it to be painful for you. When I kill your boyfriend, though, I may be tempted to make it painful, prolonged, let him see what I did to you, see your dead body...I know it'll tear him apart, and I'll tell him, _this is because you took her from me you stupid bastard_..."

"Please...don't kill him," Spinelli begged, "Don't kill any of them. They don't know, none of them know any of this...I'm the only one that knows now."

"I don't believe you. I can't believe you. I _won't_ believe you."

"We can help you, Mundy...you need help..." Spinelli pleaded, hoping, at the very least, to distract him long enough to get herself into a more defensive position.

"No..." Mundy said, again by her side, "You can't. And the truth is, I don't think I want you to." His hands encompassed her neck, scraping roughly against her delicate skin. "Now, I guess it's time for you to go to sleep..."

-0-0-0-0-

Menlo dragged his finger through the dirt, drawing circles. They wanted to prod him to continue with his explanation, but he seemed unwilling to divulge at first, as though wondering if it was something he should share. He seemed ashamed of the knowledge he had, and Randall and Butch kept their mouth's shut only because they understood what that felt like.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled finally, "I don't know what to tell you that you probably don't already know."

"Start with Mary Anna isn't Mary Anna," Butch suggested silently, gently. He wasn't going to push the young man.

"Right..." Menlo was silent again, and Randall shifted his weight slightly, taking his cigarette between his cracking lips. The motion seemed to startle Menlo, "Do you have any more of that...of the whiskey?" Butch handed the canteen over and Menlo seemed content simply to take it in through his nostrils the strong bitter smell. That alone seemed to make him lightheaded again, "That file..." he started, "I remember it clearly because it was atrocious. Names scribbled out...things like that. From the looks of things, two files had been mixed together. So...so I investigated...I..." he broke into a sob, howling, "Oh Miss Lemon, I have failed you, betrayed your trust of confidentiality! Darn those permanent records and their tantalizing manila colored folders!"

"I changed my mind, Randall, you're completely sane," Butch commented in a hushed whisper, "_He's_ flipped his lid."

"Menlo, what was the name on the folder?" Randall demanded.

"I don't know! The last names were all changed, to James," Menlo whined, he covered his head, "And the ages were changed too. Originally Mary Anna was supposed to start in the sixth grade, but it was changed."

"Is that all?"

"No..." Menlo whimpered, "The address was altered as well...it was supposed to be a nice house on Seventh Street...but it was changed, to, from what I can figure, the boathouse on Third Street Lake. Nobody lives there; it's not sanctioned by the state as a residential building. It's actually not supposed to be in use at all as it's not up to code."

"Anything else?" Butch sighed, coming to the conclusion nothing he was saying was of any use.

"Yes...I told you, I investigated...I searched through the father's name, Freud James, and I found that he did have a daughter, one daughter. Brenda James, and that she was...that she was supposed to be at a hospital...Vessel McDowell's Hospital for the Clinically Insane. That it was also where her mother had been...and that...that Freud had been put in custody of a young girl as well, a girl by the name of Mary Anna. That he had moved here with that little girl, that she was the daughter of a cousin or something...some sort of relative...and that he was living in a house on Seventh...but that...that he had owned the boathouse."

"When did you do this...when did you find all of this out?" Randall pressed, his voice a low and harsh hiss.

"After the gym burned down...oh, I'm so sorry," Menlo sobbed, "I know I should have said something...but...I...it didn't seem important...they were just...I thought they were just inconsistencies in filing is all..."

"It's alright Menlo," Butch sighed, patting the bawling man's shoulder. He straightened, walking away slightly, Randall following closely behind, putting out his cigarette and flicking the butt into a nearby trashcan. "What do we do?" Butch asked, looking out at the playground where Vince was, "Do we tell him?"

"It may mean nothing," Randall shrugged, thumbing his gun just to make sure it was still there, securely in place, "That must have been hard on that Freud guy...both his wife and his daughter in a mental institution." Butch nodded, he lifted his sleeve, tossing the patch to the ground and sticking his hand out.

"I need a smoke."

"Butch...I don't know..."

"Give me a goddamned cigarette! Tonight may be my last night, I want to go out drunk with a cigarette in my hand!" Randall fumbled in his coat, producing the crumpled package and opening it quickly, he frowned, shaking the box.

"It's empty."

"Damn!" Butch moaned.

"There's no more in this...bottle..." Menlo slurred from the tree in bemused stun, and then broke into fits of giggles. Butch and Randall frowned at him, pink faced, drooling, and falling on the ground in attempts to lift himself to sitting again.

"Damn," they said in unison. Butch made his way back to the tree, pushing Menlo over as he tried to sit up, which caused another eruption of laughter from the drunken slob. Randall sighed, tossing the empty package as well before returning to stand over by the two older men.

"I'm not going back," Butch finally said, before pushing Menlo over again.

"Back where?" Randall questioned, frowning somewhat at his dirty silver canteen and the poor slab of a boy lying on his belly in the dirt licking its outer rim.

"To the university," Butch shrugged, burying his head again, "What's the use?"

"You have to give a lecture." 

"Big whoop," he shuddered, pulling his jacket over his face, "I would say about three people come to my lectures. Do you know what they call me? The Freaky Teach. Damn students don't show me any respect because all I know about is urban legends. Bastards. I hate kids."

"You _are_ a kid." And that seemed to strike Menlo's funny bone as he burst into a wild chortle from where he lay, which the two other young men just took as confirmation that he hadn't passed out or died of alcohol poisoning.

"You know what I mean." Butch sighed, laying his head back against the trunk of the tree, and pulling down his jacket.

"Yeah," Randall nodded, squatting down to Butch's level, "I didn't get much respect when I _was_ a kid."

"You didn't deserve much respect, Randall, no offense."

"None taken," Randall sighed, attempting to straighten the wrinkles in his shirt, "We hate our lives, Butch, but they're _our_ lives."

"Women think I'm creepy, and men think I'm a jerk and just want to beat the hell out of me," Butch muttered.

"Yeah? People are afraid of me. They avoid me as much as possible, and no one will talk to me."

"So nothings really changed for you? Except for the people being _afraid_ of you part," Butch joked, chuckling slightly, sadly.

"My mother won't let me move out," Menlo said from the ground.

"What?" both his companions cried as one.

"She won't let me move out," he hiccupped, "But I guess I don't want to...well...I want to...but I'm afraid to."

"You're twenty-five, Menlo, it's not a big deal that you still live with your mother," Randall attempted to reassure him, "When your thirty is when it gets serious. And what do you mean she won't let you move out?"

"Just that. She won't let me get a job that pays more...she wouldn't let me go to those Ivy League Universities I got accepted to, with partial scholarships. She wouldn't pay the other half, and I didn't have a good enough job to pay," Menlo seemed to crumble, bursting into tears, "But I'm afraid of leaving my mommy! Who'll protect me from the things that go bump at night?"

"Um..." Butch rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment for the drunken man sobbing vehemently.

"And...and...I thought if I stayed with my mother and stayed at the school, then...then...it would be as though nothing ever happened...as though Mary Anna never happened," Menlo choked out, "Everybody else wanted to run away from it...but me...I knew I could forget it...I just knew I could, if I just pretended it never happened, then I would forget all about it...if I just kept going about things the way they were before it happened..."

"Was that how it was?" Butch mused, "Were we...were we running away? I always thought I was running towards something...but now...now that I think about it...maybe I was running away. I wanted out, as soon as I could...to escape the memories...all of them. Who would protect us? Not my mother...no...never _my_ mother..."

"Butch...?" Randall questioned.

"What?" he blinked, looking up a little stunned, "She had boyfriends," he explained with a casual shrug, as though it were nothing big, though his eyes betrayed the truth, "I mean, boyfriends are important, right? _I_ wouldn't say more important then sons...but hey...mom would. And what's important to her should be important to me, right?" His eyes seemed to glisten with forming tears, as he stared up, trying to compose himself, his voice starting to shake under the pressure of his emotions, "Maybe if dad would come home from the bar at least one _fucking_ time." Menlo was silent, unmoving, and Randall's eyes were downcast, studying the grains of dirt. "But it's more important to be drunk...more important then your sons, right dad? Lord rest his fucking soul." He fell silent, licking his dry lips, "Sorry," he mumbled, "I guess you don't care about my life. No one really cares about my life, everyone's just got something so much more important."

"That's not true," Randall assured him, then chuckling somberly, "Look at all of us...the poor, pathetic products of broken homes. But I guess I can't complain. My dad brought the bar to our house, so at least he was home all the time. Though, it is hard to play catch with a drunkard yelling at the television set."

"My father didn't care about me unless I did something wrong," Menlo murmured from the ground, seeming a bit more sober from the yelling, the words a haunting reminder of his own household troubles, "Then I would receive a lecture. They weren't so bad...it's mother I don't want to cross..."

"I thought you and your mother had an impeccable bond," Randall recalled, a bit more bitterly then he'd intended.

"Of course we do," Menlo commented in all seriousness, "My mother loves me. That's why she wants me to stay in line, and do things correctly. She just hits me to remind me to do the right thing."

"Your mother hits you?" Butch whispered.

"It's not bad. You say it like it's bad. It's not bad," Menlo choked out as though straining to believe his own words, "I'm a boy. Boys need a little extra helping to remember right from wrong. Boys can be rambunctious, forget their place...they can..." He faltered, and the other two were silent.

"I guess it's true," Randall muttered, "Misery loves company."

"Yup," Butch agreed, "Trouble, pain, gloom, dread, sadness, child abuse and they all have a nice little party in a little black cloud over our heads."

"I'd drink to that," Menlo mumbled from the ground drowsily.

"Well, none of us can drink to anything seeing as how _you drank all the whiskey_," Butch snapped.

"Did I?"

"_Yes_," Butch and Randall cried in unison.

"Whelp, that explains why I feel sick."

"God, I hope we're not the cavalry when psycho bitch gets here," Butch shook his head.

-0-0-0-0-

Vince was startled to say the least when he noticed Gus coming upon him and Gretchen. The young man looked worn out, panting heavily, and Vince could see the Ashleys making their way over to the playground as well, in hasty hobbled steps. He could also see Mikey struggling to climb down from the jungle gym.

"What are you doing here?" Vince demanded, "You're supposed to be watching TJ."

"I know, but TJ left the boathouse," Gus gasped.

"What? Why didn't you radio?"

"The radios aren't working," Ashley B. exclaimed coming up with Ashley T. leaning heavily against her. Vince pulled out his own radio, turning it on.

"TJ?" he said into the speaker, but no answer came.

"Magnets!" Gretchen exclaimed, "The magnetic disturbance. It's throwing off the radio waves!"

"Damn," Vince growled, "Did he have her with him?" Gus stared blankly, "Clara? Was Clara with TJ?"

"No," Gus answered, "He was running, too, back here. He looked...he didn't look good..."

"Oh man." Vince moaned.

"What's going on?" Frances questioned, coming up, Ashley Q. at his heel. Ashley A. made her way over as well, crossing her arms and frowning at Gretchen.

"I thought we were using the buddy system," she spat, "But how does the buddy system work when my buddy takes off?"

"Sorry," Gretchen mumbled.

"We've got a problem," Vince said, he turned to the gym, frowning slightly, "I haven't heard anything from Spinelli...you'd think she'd be wondering what was taking so long." Mikey limped over, breathing harshly.

"The gym," Mikey choked out, "TJ's yelling something about the gym."

"Oh, shit," Frances hissed. With an almost silent agreement, they raced to the large double doors. Vince reaching them first, tugging at viciously at them, despite the fact they wouldn't budge.

"Damn. It's locked," Vince cried, banging on the door, screaming, "Spinelli!"

"What the hell is going on?" Randall asked, him and Butch, carrying Menlo between them, appearing.

"Something went wrong," Mikey explained, "Now the gym door is locked, and Spinelli is in there," then peering closer at their gangly cargo questioned with a furrowed brow, "Is Menlo...is he drunk?"

"What do you mean the gym door is locked?" Randall snarled, shaking his head and shoving all of Menlo's weight onto Butch before stepping forward, "Move aside."

"Shoot the lock with your gun!" Ashley B. commanded, shoving his shoulder and he looked at her bewildered.

"Why? So the bullet'll ricochet off and kill one of us?" he snapped, fumbling in his coat and producing a thin wire, hooked at the end, from one of his sleeves, "I was thinking something a little simpler and less macho stupid." He knelt down, inserting the wire and twisting it about, "It's funny," he commented, a little distractedly, "The last time I was at this door, I was locking a little girl inside unknowingly to her death. And now I'm here unlocking it to save someone else. Irony."

"Just hurry up," Vince told him roughly, "We can ponder all the ironies of our situation later, when we know Spinelli is safe."

The lock clicked open, and the door swung in.

* * *

END A/N: Next chapter: ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE! Ready the rock music, 'cause that's what I'll rec. 

Hm...did Menlo's little revelation answer anything...? I wonder...Oh, and he seemed like he'd be a momma's boy with an abusive past...don't those guys make an odd group? Menlo, Randall, and Butch chatting about their horrible lives. They're the most anti-social, that's why I felt they'd make suitable comrades, like the Lone Gunmen, really, does anybody remember those dudes from the X-Files who had their short lived spinoff series (That was actually really good but lacked the ratings to keep going) or am I talking to myself here?

Oh, and a note on our smokers and they way they hold their cigs (because it's important to their character). Mundy holds his like normal, between his two fingers, and he blows his smoke up. He's proud, and that's really what that shows. Randall on the other hand, holds his cig like a joint. Now, I hope to God that none of you peeps out there have smoked a joint, because it's bad and illegal. And, if you've survived middle school w/o knowing how a joint is held, then I want to know where you live so I know where to raise my kids when I have them. Back to my explanation...a joint is held between the thumb and index finger, and Randall kind of lowers his head when he smokes. Why? Because he's a little ashamed of himself and his dependancies. It shows how he feels about the cigeratte as well, the way he holds it, as though it were a drug. THAT'S ALL! SMOKING IS BAD. Not only does it pollute your lungs, but the lungs of those around you. DON'T TAKE ANOTHER PERSONS RIGHT TO BREATH AWAY FROM THEM! What do you mean 'what about drinking'? Um...er...UNDERAGE DRINKING IS ILLEGAL!

I am a bad person. I'm going straight to hell. But please excuse my grammatical and typing errors.

PLEASE, go and _**REVIEW**_, I love hearing from people. I feel more connected with my readers, knowing how they feel about my story. Even if all you have to say every time is that "it was great", at least I know that you liked it. If you have something constructive to say, criticism to give, I love that as well. I like people to feel involved with the story, and I think **_REVIEW_**s are a good way for them to be involved. If you haven't **_REVIEW_**ed my story yet, I'd love to hear from you. If you have, keep it up, my devoted patrons.

THANKS FOR READING. Now...where did I put the key to hell so I can prepare for the next chapter...


	31. Striking A Match

A/N: ...

Thanks to the reviewers:

RavenForever: no time for long reply.

TNPD: Oh, nobody has a happy life.

Sarah: I know...I know...I hope she's okay too...

DAGL: Good.

mischeif-maker: I know you like my story, but how'd you get it to post three times? An interesting poem...

iluvdanbyrd: You know...if you'd only told me that Dan Byrd was the kid that played the young version of Collier on the show Any Day Now, I could have told you from the beginning "I DO KNOW WHO THAT IS, and yes, I concur, he is quite lovable." I do try to update fast.

bob: (FIRST TIME REVIEWER!!!!!! YAY) take a deep breath, calm down, yes, you are hyper.

MUSIC RECS: Bodies by Drowning Pool, For Whom the Bell Tolls by Metallica, Everything About You by Three Days Grace, or anything of that ilk...

Let the bodies hit the floor and...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 31: Striking A Match

Spinelli struggled beneath the grasp Mundy had around her neck, fighting, squirming, wanting to scream out, but unable to. She felt her muscles bruising, her blood cells breaking beneath his rough fingers, as he crushed the breath from out her lungs. The world was darkening, and she couldn't think clearly. This is TJ's fault, she told herself, somehow, someway; this had to be his fault. No, she commanded herself, don't think like that. Suddenly, the grasp loosened and Mundy perked up.

"Damn," he muttered, and Spinelli managed to refocus well enough to see that Mundy was distracted by something, looking to the distance, "Seems those little bastard classmates of ours are a little more resourceful than I originally thought." He pulled Spinelli up, dragging her with him and dropping her behind a stack of boxes, as helpless as she was to begin with, but at least she was sitting.

"What are...what are you going to do?" she whispered, as he picked up a large dark object leaning heavily against a wall of packaging. He raised it up into the light so that she could see the finer details of the shotgun. Her breath caught beneath a lump in her throat. He was serious about all of this.

"Don't worry, babe," he clucked her direction, "Looks like you have the privilege of living a bit longer than planned, but I will be getting back to you when hunting season is over. Now, be a good girl and keep your mouth shut." He ripped a piece of tape off the discarded roll and plastered it over her lips, patting her cheek before disappearing into the labyrinth of boxes. Of course, she had no intention of being there when he returned, as she worked on untangling her sweater.

-0-0-0-0-

Randall lifted himself from the ground, dusting off his knees and replacing his interesting tool of choice back in his sleeve. The others stared into the void that was the gym, and the foreboding darkness of it seemed to spill out onto the moonlit playground, over the wide-eyed group standing in the doorway.

"Ahem," Vince cleared his throat, stepping forward, "Spinelli?" he called into the darkness. Randall unhooked his gun, pulling it out and holding it in front of him, glancing into the darkness of the gym cautiously. Vince glowered at him, frowning, "Will you put that thing away?"

"What?" Randall smirked, "I'm not going to shoot you. I think there are bigger things to worry about then me holding a gun."

"Why's it such a mess in here?" Frances asked, peering inside the gym.

"That's all the equipment," Menlo explained in a slovenly slur of words, "They're reopening this gym...nope, wait, this _school_," he burst into giggles, and Butch dropped him to the ground by the wall.

"He's no help right now," Butch told the others, "It's better that he stays here."

"Okay, we go in groups," Gus took charge, "And search the gym. If anyone sees something...or if anything happens...just call, and we all run to the person who..."

"Can some of us, like, stay behind?" Ashley A. asked, frowning at the dark of the gym, "Like Ashley T. can't travel much further."

"Leave her with Menlo," Gretchen said, "But Spinelli is not answering and she may be in a difficult predicament that our long discussion is not helping." Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the gym, "Let's go."

"I'm with Randall!" Ashley B. spoke up, and then frowning, "Never thought I'd ever say _those_ words."

"Mikey, stay here, you too Gus," Vince commanded, then seeing the frown crossing Gus's face, "You have a wife and child to get home to, Gus, I want you as out of danger as I can keep you. Besides, I need you guys to tell TJ what's up when he gets here." He looked back to the others, "Ashley A., Gretchen, Butch you guys come with me, the rest of you with...I guess...Randall. Stay close to each other." They entered the gym, splitting into the maze of box towers.

-0-0-

Shadows danced along the walls, and the silence was biting. Randall held the gun in front of him, his finger lax against the trigger. He closed his eyes, strained to listen. He was the best at his craft, he could hear a pin drop a floor down in an empty executive building, but in that large gym the echoes were playing tricks on his ears. He could hear the footfalls of Vince's group, as well as that of those following him. They were trying to move with stealth, but to his trained ears, they sounded clumsy, and too loud.

"Do you, like, know how to shoot that thing?" Ashley Q. asked in a harsh whisper that startled Randall.

"Yes," he breathed his reply.

"It has bullets, right? It's loaded, right?" Ashley B. piped up.

"Are you any good with it?" Ashley Q. demanded.

"Let's just say I can hit the broadside of a barn," Randall replied.

"Is that good or bad?"

"You're just joking, right?"

"How big is a barn, anyways?"

"Wasn't it nice of Vince, pairing us with two Ashleys?" Francis commented beneath his breath, receiving dangerous glares from both young women.

"I can't hear anything if you're all chatting," Randall hissed, "So can you all, please, be quiet."

"Hey, who put him in charge?" Ashley Q. demanded.

"I know I'm not taking orders from a snitch," Ashley B. spat.

"He's got the gun," Francis shrugged, "And more experience with this kind of thing."

"Yeah, doesn't change the fact that he's a snitch," Ashley Q. muttered.

"And badly dressed, black is _so_ out."

"And the trench coat thing...overdone!"

"You have such good taste, Ashley B."

"As do you, Ashley Q."

"Let's never fight again."

"I know..."

"SHUT UP," Randall cried, and then froze in his steps. He'd seen something, someone, moving in the shadows. He searched the darkness with wary glances, heart pounding in his chest. He didn't really have any experience in this kind of thing. He was always the predator lurking in the shadows readying to strike, not the helpless prey cowering in the light of his coming death.

"What's the matter?" Francis whispered, close to Randall's ear.

"I saw something," he replied, "I don't think it was Spinelli. Too...large...masculine..." The gym seemed to grow colder, and they heard a slamming, quickly surmising that the front door had shut, trapping behind it what little light illuminated that large room.

"Why's it so dark in here?" Ashley Q. whimpered, "I can't see anything..." There was a sound of shuffling feet and a crash. "Ow," one of the Ashleys cried out.

"Don't move around," Randall told them, "No one move." He stepped forward, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dark, as that was what he was used to anyhow.

"Randall..." Francis called.

"Shh..." Randall hissed, then turned scanning the darkness, they were gone, all three of them.

-0-0-0-0-

Mikey perked up when he saw TJ, whose first interest seemed to be getting in the gym. He stepped into the dark doorway, breathlessly scanning the large room with the scouring eyes of a desperate man.

"Where's Spinelli?" he finally gasped.

"The others went in there, searching for her," Mikey explained, "Is it Clara?"

"No," TJ shook his head, "She wasn't alone. There's someone else...Spinelli, where is Spinelli?"

"She's still in there, Teej, the others are looking for her," Gus stepped in.

"Alright, they can add one more to the search party," TJ said determinedly.

"Fall the fools...they move to folly..." Menlo garbled.

"What's with him?" TJ frowned at the miserably chuckling form.

"He's drunk, as far as we can tell," Gus said, "You can't go in there, Teej, you look like you're past your limit. You can't keep going."

"Spinelli's in there, as is the rest of the gang, with a killer," TJ turned a glare on his two friends, "I'm going in."

"Then I'm coming with you," Gus told him.

"As am I," Mikey conceded, stepping next to the two shorter men.

"Let's go then." Together they entered the darkness. Menlo glanced over to their vanishing forms and looked to Ashley T. who was leaning against the school building, sleeping from what he could tell.

"We're doomed," he slurred. He startled when he heard the door slam shut, but the fear quickly subsided in his drunken stupor and he broke into laughter. There was giggling, like a young girl, caught on the wind and Menlo didn't realize it until he felt a sharp object plunge into his stomach. There was no pain, only this realization that there was a screwdriver protruding from within him. His vision was blurred, but he could make out the outline of the young woman squatting in front of him. He frowned, blood trickling down from his mouth to his chin. Her hand, caressed that chin, thumb smearing the warm blood. The woman came close to his ear, her breath cold as ice.

"To be honest," she said in a low whisper, "You were useless anyways. Mundy never should have trusted you."

"Mundy?" Menlo gurgled, "Where is..."

"Don't worry, he'll be fine. They'll all be fine." The tool was ripped from his stomach, taking a length of blood with it, that spilled across Menlo's legs. His eyes, uncomprehending, looked down to that blood. He felt, more than saw, the woman leave.

-0-0-0-0-

Gretchen trailed her hand along the boxes, staring ahead, but flickering her eyes back every now and then. Ashley A. clung to her, gripping her shirt in claw hands. They all heard the door slam shut, felt a falling in their hearts, as though hearing their one hope shatter and break.

"Vince," Gretchen whispered, "What do we do?"

"Keep looking for Spinelli," he said between gritted teeth, "Stay together." They followed one another closely, moving through the darkness of the gym. Stopped when laughter broke the silence. It started out as a soft giggle, but cracked into a maniacal uproar.

"Ring around the rosy...pocket full of posies...ashes, ashes...we all fall down..."

"We have to get out of here..." Ashley A. whispered, "We have to get out of here..."

"Calm down," Vince cried, "Just shush!"

"NO!" Ashley A. screamed, pulling away, "She's coming to kill us...I don't want to die..." She turned, taking off at a full sprint.

"Ashley A.," Vince called, taking off after her. They disappeared around the boxes. He wrapped his arms around her, dragging her to a halt, "Stop this," he whispered, "Just don't panic..." It was too late for that, of course, "We have to stay together."

"Vince?" Gretchen's voice called, but she sounded distant. How big was this gym, anyways? He turned, glancing around. He couldn't see anything, couldn't figure out where they were. He held tightly to Ashley A. whimpering in his grasp, and felt his way around, stumbled over a box.

"Ow," Ashley A. complained.

"Sorry," he released her, holding tightly to her arm. The laughter broke in again, and she jumped into his arms.

"I want to be home, in my nice apartment, with my handsome husband whom I love...I really love him...I want to tell him that I love him...I want to be home," she was whispering, her eyes tightly closed, "I want this to end...I want to go home..."

"You are home," was a soft whisper. The two jumped back, looking around, scanning the darkness with wide eyes. They didn't have time to react as the heavy boxes toppled upon them.

-0-0-0-0-

Francis felt a small hand slip into his own, a form sidle closer to him. His eyes looked around, searching for Randall, or anyone for that matter. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, but there was little light to go by.

"Ashley B. is gone." Francis jumped, hearing that voice, but settled down, realizing it was only Ashley Q.

"I can't find Randall."

"I'm scared."

"We'll be okay." Francis led them forward, in the direction he assumed Randall had gone in. He stopped, scrunching his nose, "Do you...do you smell fire?"

"Don't say that," Ashley Q. hissed, "No, I don't."

"It smells like...it smells like smoke, like something burning."

"Shut up!"

"But..."

"I don't want to burn in here...not like Mary Anna." Ashley Q. stopped moving, and Francis searched the darkness, trying to make out her features, "I'm afraid. With everything going on...I'm afraid."

"We'll be..."

"Don't tell me we'll be okay, Francis, because none of us are okay," Ashley Q. snapped. A scream cut through the gym, and everything seemed to fall still, "That was Ashley A.," Ashley Q. whispered dully, "What if she's dead?"

"Then we better not join her," Francis told her, pushing forward. He didn't mean to be harsh, he was simply afraid for the blonde Ashley's well being, "We have to keep moving." They heard the sound of scraping, a low humming of a song they didn't recognize, and giggling, a childish chortle.

"Francis," Ashley Q. whispered, "Can I confess something to you?"

"No," was the snappish reply, "Because confessions mean you're giving up, and I for one, am not giving up. We have to find Randall, or Spinelli, or one of the others...god...where's the damn light switch in this place?"

"Menlo said the electricity's not up anyways. Not at night, at least," Ashley Q. whispered, "It saves the school energy and money." There was the sound of something cracking, breaking under a misplaced footstep. Ashley Q. froze, losing her clutch on Francis's hand. Her eyes fell to the ground, her mouth forming a silent scream. A doll's small glass eye stared up at her, seeming to emit a source of light all it's own. The rest of the doll's face was smashed beneath her foot. She felt someone's arms wrap protectively around her, falling to the ground, felt something breeze by her face, heard the sick thud of flesh splitting, the smell of blood, splattered along her blouse and bare skin. She closed her mouth, closed her eyes, lay motionless under the heavy limp weight atop her. She didn't want to see, was afraid of what she might see, the only sounds she could hear were that of retreating footsteps and her own heart pounding furiously in her chest.

-0-0-0-0-

Randall moved swiftly, silently, gun held tautly, eyes at ready. Something wasn't right, he could feel the musty air of the gym prickling at his neck, stingy, thick, and warm. Smoke, tickled his nose, reminded him of the cigarettes he was out of, that he was craving at that moment. He was struggling to make sense of what little he could see and everything he could hear. Laughter, motion, shuffling, movement, talking, screaming, it sounded like a goddamned haunted house. He braced himself against the light breeze billowing through the gym, where it was coming from, he couldn't tell. A window was probably open somewhere.

Everything seemed to fall still at once. Goosebumps ran a course up Randall's arms, and the curled hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He hated his curly locks, cursed his father for them. He hated everything his father gave him, most particularly, his life.

More motion, closer, dodging in the shadows. The whole gym was in shadows. There was a smell, a thick smell of smoke, and Randall turned in time to dodge a preemptive attack. He fell to the ground, startled, rolling to his feet once more but his attacker was gone. He prodded the darkness with a wary stare, glancing nervously about. Attacker back in view, a fist swinging Randall's way. An easy dodge for the well-trained agent. Strike after strike, dodge, a game of parries until both found safe harbor behind twin towers of boxes. Movement was dangerous, too easily giving away a position. Randall heard the sound of a scream, felt his heart leap into his throat, and heard a soft giggling close to his ear. A whimsical jab into his back, blood trickling to the ground. He stumbled forward; gasping, biting his lower lip to keep from crying out, keep from betraying his position. He turned to the ghostly figure, almost childlike glowering at him, blood stained hands and satanic grin.

He heard too late the cocking of a gun, and the deathly report echoed through the gym. He fell to his knees, blood pooling beneath him, staring in confusion at the ghost before him. She stepped forward, ran her fingers through his curls that he hated, pulled his head back, whispering into his ear.

"In death, there are no secrets to snitch..." were her words of ice, and she disappeared with the world that faded fast. Randall slumped against a box, hand clutching his side. A bullet had been there once before...a picture of a little girl at a park filled his mind...a smiling youth stained with blood...

A young man's form slinked from the shadows, shotgun in hand, and cigarette in the other. The cigarette was flicked through the air, landing in the puddle of red and sizzling slightly. A smirk played across thin whiskered lips.

"TJ, I can't see anything..." a soft whine from nearby, "I'm really...I kind of...I'm a little afraid of the dark." The figure took to shadows again, alert again. Shotgun was raised, aim taken. The young man stepped into view, and while only his outline was visible, he was undoubtedly TJ. The man in shadows fired without hesitation, stepping back again, hearing cries of confusion in the darkness. He stepped forward, weaving through the boxes making his way to see his handiwork without his location revealed. He felt something sharp and broad bury itself in his stomach, the air escaping his lungs in one quick gasp. A figure stepped out, blonde strings of hair falling into dull malicious eyes. A demon in the darkness.

"Mundy, Mundy..." she whispered and the poor man drew his brow together in confusion.

"Who...? Why...?" he gurgled, blood worming its way up his throat, spilling out his lips. A delicate smile passed a neatly painted mouth.

"You tried to kill what was mine," was the simple answer, pleasantness hiding simmering rage, "You served my purpose well...but you tried to kill what was mine." The axe, as that was the sharp, broad object sunken into Mundy's gut, was withdrawn accompanied by an awful sucking noise. Blood spilled from the wound in a flowing waterfall and Mundy clutched the gaping wound, almost as an attempt to keep his insides from falling onto the floor. "If anyone's going to kill what's mine..." the woman continued, lifting the axe in her hands, "It's going to be me." She turned, leaving Mundy to fall against a stack of boxes, staring after her in confusion and aghast.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli pulled one arm from the sweater, fighting the urge to cry out a whoop of triumph, which wasn't hard considering the tape holding her mouth shut, and pulled the other arm forward and make quick work of the knot in the large fabric. She tossed the sweater to the side and gently removed the tape from her mouth, taking a deep satisfying breath. She pulled her legs up to her chest, making to undo the tape that bound her legs together. She was bothered by the noises she'd been hearing. The slamming of doors, the screaming, the soft giggles, the footfalls, the sounds of guns going off...cries of pain.

"Tsk, tsk..." a soft whisper in the darkness, "Poor broken doll..." The words were so soft...so gentle...so childlike. Spinelli looked up, searched the darkness.

"Who...who's there?"

"Shhh..." a gentle breeze of breath, "Poor little doll...poor, poor little doll...shattered into a million pieces...broken...so broken...it wasn't her fault, she didn't mean to."

"Who..." Spinelli attempted again, but her words caught in her throat. She went back to the tape around her ankles, went back to undoing it.

"Do you know...do you know what I'm searching for? Do you know what I want? What she wants? What daddy wanted? What we all want?" Spinelli didn't answer, the tape getting caught around her hands. "Perfection...we strive to be perfect, and in that, we are flawed. Because we search for perfection outside of us but it is already within us. And, because we are searching for this perfection, we fail to see it, and, in that, we fail to embrace it. I have learned to embrace my perfection, because I know, that my perfection is not for me to find, but for others to find within me. At least, that's what father always used to say...a fool, wasn't he? Of course, he also always used to say 'I'm sorry, but you're far perfect.' Life is a shame, isn't it? You're born; you spend your entire life searching for yourself, only to die, never fully realizing that you already have yourself. What is perfection? What is life? Perfection is like water, still and calm, until you drop a rock upon its surface. It ripples; it is imperfect, flawed. The illusion of clarity and smoothness is shattered to reveal the jutting rocks and dirt beneath. Those, of course, being the water's hidden secrets. Perfection is never simple. Not like life. Life is death. Life is like a fire, constantly burning, ripping through everything, engulfing all unprejudiced. But when there is nothing left to burn, nothing left to ingest; fire, like life, dies. See? Life is simple."

"Who are you?" Spinelli spat into the darkness. A figure stepped forward, small, thin and pale, a lit match held in front of her, revealing bloodied hands and blood stained cheeks.

"Mary Anna."

* * *

END A/N: I know it's short, I promise it'll be longer next chapter.

Please excuse any grammatical or typing errors, and PLEASE **_review_**.

Thanks for reading all you wonderful people, now I have ten minutes to get ready for work so...ROCK ON!


	32. Of Broken Dolls and Ghost Voices

A/N: Mmmm....it's still pretty damn short...I'm sorry...I'm not very good at writing conclusions of stories...I hate to see the stories end...

Thanks to the reviewers:

TNPD: Saw what coming? Read on and see if you saw what you actually thought you saw coming.

xXxSarahxXx: Sorry I didn't update soner...er...sooner...hehe. I hope this chapter leaves you with the same feeling...hope you had a good Halloween.

RavenForever: You still alive? I updated as soon as I could...

MOMO-CHAN: (yay, you're back!!!) love pending with conclusion...hehe...

mischeif-maker: take a deep breath, and read. So...you went as yourself for Halloween? J/k...sort of...mmm...why does everyone want me to read their fanfics? I'm not the nicest of reviewers. I'll get on it as soon as possible.

iluvdanbyrd: Well, I'm not just going to stop updating...those this one did take its time getting up...another person who wants me to read their fanfic...hm...I've never seen Salem's Lot, so I assume I'll be confused. Maybe...if I have time...

DAGL: Yup. Creepy. I guess.

SteffieWitter26: My lurker in the shadows, now becoming a good reviewer. I noticed you there, adding me to your auther alert and favorites, and I thought you would never review, but you did, and now I'm HAPPY. Or as happy as I can be.

Trisk: (new reviewer) mmm....thanks for the reviews.

Hmmm....where's RT?

Music Recs: Mmm...mischief-maker suggested the Evanescence CD, most specifically tracks 3, 5, 8, and 9. I haven't had the privalege of listening to the CD myself, even though one is within my household. It's just never there when I want to try and listen to it, so I'm secluded to the songs I've heard on the radio. I myself have got nothing...except maybe...hm...nope, nothing.

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 32: Of Broken Dolls and Ghost Voices 

Spinelli held herself still, eyeing the woman before her. Stringy, matted, unkempt hair fell into dark sunken eyes. Chapped lips and chapped skin, lay over her frame like the flesh of a dead fish. The light, from the match, flickered ever so slightly, eating away at the stick licking its way to the woman's fingers. The fire illuminated the woman's eyes and lips and nostrils with an eerie glow. Without a doubt, Spinelli was certain that this woman was in fact the child Mary Anna. But she was tired; her mind could possibly be playing tricks on her.

"All things come back to the beginning, did you know that?" the woman whispered in a childish voice.

"What do you want from me?" Spinelli demanded, pulling herself up as much as she could manage with her legs still bound.

"It isn't so much from as of. And it isn't so much a wanting as a hope, a simple wishing. Like a birthday cake, blow out the candle, make a wish," with a small exertion of breath, the match simmered and dissipated. They were in dark again. "I'm sorry about the dolls," her voice was meager now, small, and unrecognizable from the first.

"_Who_ are you?" Spinelli hissed into the darkness, fear catching the words in her throat.

"Mommy says that I can be a good girl if I just don't touch daddy's dolls...but they're so pretty..." A scoff, and the voice changed, rough and adult, Spinelli had heard that voice before, "Shut up, Brenda, you were always such a whiny bitch." Again, meager, shy, "But then mommy went away, and I didn't need to be a good girl anymore." The rough, adult voice took over again, "Shut _up_, Brenda. Must you go telling everyone's secrets, _again_? You were always such a blabbermouth. Tattle tale, tattle tale..." Then the child broke out, "But Victoria, it was all her fault! She said, she said...she said...I don't remember...

"Ya'll need to stop fighting. Mama and daddy, they'll be disappointed. You two were always fighting," Mary Anna now with the unmistakable southern drawl. "Clara's right, Brenda, you are a tattle tale. Always were, that's why daddy didn't want you around no more. Like mama."

"Mommy broke," whispered Brenda, as far as Spinelli could tell, "It wasn't her fault. It wasn't...it was Victoria..."

"Shit..." Spinelli mumbled, scanning the darkness, unable to find the girl with the blood stained hands and cheeks. She returned to her binds, attempting to undo them while her possible attacker was preoccupied. Her heart pounding in her chest. She paused. The talking, it had stopped. Someone was close to her. She turned, jumping, startled. The small face, the round of a woman's face was inches from her, staring at her intensely.

"They talk too much, I'm sorry," she whispered, the voice gentle, and unfamiliar to Spinelli, "But we're here to see you, and we forget that sometimes."

"Who are you?" Spinelli whispered, shakily.

"We're the James' Girls," was the simple, casual answer, "We wanted to talk to you. I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

"He would have liked your face," she said, pulling away from Spinelli, falling back into darkness, "So much life in those eyes. So much pain, so much suffering. He liked pain and suffering. He said life was pain and suffering. And life was perfection, after all. He painted perfection on a doll's face. I used to watch, watch him paint them..."

"Who are you?"

"I was the first. The first, but not the last."

"What does that mean?" She was walking, walking through the dark of the room.

"Have you ever swam in the middle of the night? Have you ever played with matches? It always...it feels like you're getting away with something? Doesn't it? Like murder. Now, I know that you know what it feels like to get away with murder. Because you have...or...you thought you had..."

"I didn't murder anyone."

"I know what they say, behind your back. Molly, Victoria, Mary Anna, Clara, Talus, Janine, Patty...I know what they all say. What he says. You're a bad girl. Couldn't keep your hands off the dolls. Had to break the dolls." She shook her head, "Had to break that doll."

"That wasn't my fault..."

"Or so you say. But Clara was there, she saw the whole thing, so did Mary Anna. But we're not talking to Mary Anna, because Mary Anna is a bad girl, she's not perfect. Not like I am, not like Clara is."

"I don't know what you're talking about. You're not making any sense," Spinelli cried, "I didn't break any doll...Mary Anna dropped that one doll when I...it was just a prank...just a joke...it was an accident."

"A...a prank? Fire is no laughing matter."

"But we didn't light the fire, that was Mundy...and even he didn't mean to...he's just a little...he has issues is all..."

"Fires...fires burning...no one lights them, they just start. You all started the fire, the fire that killed Mary Anna. Like daddy started the one that killed Brenda, and Brenda started the one that killed Victoria, and so on and so on. Fires are life, they're life sustaining, they burn and burn and burn. Then they die, as does life. We need these fires to keep going, at least that's what we fool ourselves into thinking. It's not really true. Fires make everything perfect again, it makes everything nothing."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I want you to know. I want you to know why you can never be perfect too. You are, in essence, evil. You are like a doll, an ugly doll, painted with evil thoughts in mind. You steal what isn't yours, and your heart is darkened."

"_I _steal what isn't mine?" Spinelli blurted out, unable to control herself.

"Yes. They're hearts. And then you hurt them. You are, cruel, to say the least. Your imperfection mars the world. You burn a fire all your own, killing everything that tries to get close to you. You have darkness in your heart. You think you can hide it, but I can see it there. The boy is Clara's. I know that you're jealous; I saw it that first day, when Clara and the boy found one another. He always said her prince would come."

"TJ?"

"Yes, the boy. They are together now. But there is a problem."

"What?"

"You. You keep distracting the boy with your inherent evil. I think the boy thinks he can save you. Save you from the fire. Moth to the flame," there was the sound of something scraping against the floor, and Spinelli felt her heart skip a beat, "He's a good boy like that. You broke him, a long time ago. But Clara...Clara aims to make it better. They're in love. They made love, you see. So they have to get married. It's not good to do things out of order, like they did, but sometimes that's how things happen. If you love someone..."

"He was mine first," Spinelli whispered, a low, rough statement.

"He was never yours," a cruel cry, not like the calm motherly voice, more like the one Spinelli recognized...harsh and seething. Clara? "He was always mine. But he's the same...the same as the one that was supposed to be dead...the one who's dead now...the failure. You've consumed them with your flaws and imperfections. You've broken them, like dolls. Eating at their souls. I couldn't save him from the flame...the one that's dead now...but I can save the boy, I can save him." There was a scratch, of a match igniting. The woman's face lit up, twisted into a cruel smile. She tossed the match into the boxes, grinning wildly. The flames leapt up almost instantaneously, revealing the whole of the woman, an axe clutched in her hand, stained with blood. "I just have to kill the flame. I just have to kill you." She raised the axe, stepping over Spinelli, "You don't deserve him. I have to take him from you, because you don't deserve him. You don't deserve anyone."

-0-0-0-0-

Butch felt his way around in the darkness. He was used to skulking in the shadows, but there was something eerie and sinister about this night air that bothered even his thick hide. He searched the darkness, his eyes having easily adjusted when the moon, they're sole light source was cut off. He lost sight of Gretchen, or more so, she lost sight of him. He couldn't follow her quick movements after Vince and Ashley A. So now he was trapped in the maze of boxes alone. He was used to being alone, he liked being alone, but... in that shadowed gym, he found himself craving company.

There was laughter, somewhere, and a scream. Butch stopped. Strained to listen. Heard nothing. Continued forward. He stopped again. He had stepped in something. He knew he had. He looked down, made a face. It was wet, thick, clinging to his shoe. He bent, examined it. His stomach dropped. It was blood, it had to be, a trail of blood. It led off somewhere. He followed it, with fear in his heart, knowing with the sickening dread that whoever he found at the end of the trail would be someone he didn't want to find, someone who would most probably be dead. He stopped. There was a figure sitting heavily against the large boxes breathing in sharp gasps, clutching his side.

"Randall?" Butch whispered. The figure moved slightly, glazed eyes looking up at him as he came closer, knelt down. He touched the wound, the gaping hole where the blood oozed. "What happened?"

"I wanted to die alone..." Randall wheezed, moving his arm over the injury, blocking it from sight, "Get out of here..."

"Die?" Butch nearly choked the word out. There was something painful about staring at that small boy. Their lives were similar. Miserable lives. He'd found himself liking the boy, the word 'friend' edging its way on his tongue.

"It won't stop...bleeding...I lost a lot..."

"Shut up, alright, and let me think," Butch muttered, pulling his jacket off.

"Get out of here, Butch. She's angry...she's come to...she's going to kill us all...I don't think she wanted to at first...I could see it...the way she looked..."

"Randall, cut it out. I ain't leaving you," Butch ran his hand through his hair, looking around, "If only Menlo hadn't drunk all the whiskey."

"There was someone else here too...someone else...helping her I think...here, take this..." Randall shoved his gun into Butch's stomach.

"What? No way, man! I can't shoot a gun! I don't know how..."

"It's not hard...just aim and shoot..." Randall argued, "You have to get out of here...you have a lecture to give, remember...those three students will be pretty disappointed if you don't show up..." Butch smirked slightly running his hand over the younger man's sweat drenched forehead. He settled into a seat next to Randall, leaning against the boxes.

"We'll leave together. Take a moment to rest, and then we'll leave together." Randall sighed, which came out more as a gurgled choke.

"It's better, that I die here. It's kind of...poetic I guess. I messed up a lot of kids lives on this playground...ratted out a lot of kids..."

"You've changed, though."

"Well, secrets kill nowadays."

"That has a lot of meaning in our case, you know that?"

"Why are you staying here with me, Butch? I did my fair share of ratting you out back then."

"We had tough lives kid. We weren't much different, you and me. We both wanted attention, from our parents mostly, or any adult figure we could find."

"Miss Finster..."

"Yeah, like you with Miss Finster."

"You think she's still alive?"

"God, I hope not. She was like, what, a hundred when we were in school?"

"She was fifty-seven," Randall scoffed, his words soft, almost fading.

"It's sad that you know that." Concern nudged its way into Butch's voice.

"You think Menlo's okay?" It was odd for him to ask that, but Butch simply shrugged. It was weird, the bond that can form while sharing a canteen of whiskey and drunken uncensored versions of one another's lives.

"I don't think he was ever okay. The poor guy. I didn't think anyone could be more screwed up then me."

"Likewise." They both chuckled slightly at that.

"Randall?"

"Hm...?"

"What is it that you do? You're not an insurance agent, that's for damned sure."

"I'm a government agent."

"Oh." Butch didn't sound convinced.

"I'd get my wallet to show you my ID, but I don't think I can..."

"What branch?"

"CIA."

"Shit..."

"Tell me about it." Randall's head fell to his shoulder, his body lax against the boxes, his voice distant and hollow, "Thanks, Butch..."

"Randall?" Butch straightened, touching Randall's shoulder gently, pressing his fingers to the younger man's neck, frowning, panicked, "Randall?"

-0-0-0-0-

Sam noticed Dave shifting. They hadn't spoken much. Hadn't felt it was necessary. They'd said everything they needed to say.

"You really want to leave the company," Dave murmured.

"Are we going over this again?" Sam sighed, "You'll be fine without me. I'll get to work finding my replacement as soon as we go home and..."

"I'm not bringing it up again!" Dave snapped, "I'm just saying..."

"It's not your fault, Dave, I'm not interested in being a part of the company anymore. Is that really such a big deal?" Sam shrunk against the wall, plucking at his overall strap, "I want to try other things. The company...it's been too much my life lately...and not..." he paused, "I want to find more important things to occupy my time. Like you have." He bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn't meant to say that, for it to come out so bitter. The truth was, he'd dedicated his life to that company, and he'd thought it was as important to his brother as it was to him. But his brother had proven him wrong. Marrying a sleaze of a woman. Then the children came, and it wasn't that Sam was angry, so much as jealous. They'd agreed to focus their energies on their business, that it would be their lives. But then Dave went behind Sam's back, so to speak, and got a new life. And poor Sam was left with no life outside the business. Needless to say, he wanted one.

"Whatever," Dave muttered. He'd been through the same fight with Sam over and over. It got to the point where Dave would just avoid him all together, for fear that so much as being around him would spark the fight. His brother was a passionate man, ambitious, but lacking real goals. He, on the other hand, was decisive, and organized. He had direction. Plans laid out in his mind. He was ashamed to say it, but suddenly, his life plans weren't including his brother as much. There was a rift in their relationship. Having to do, most pointedly, with their differences. Dave frowned. No, it happened way before their differences started getting in the way. It had to do with fifteen years before. They'd started to fall apart then, didn't they? When Sam blamed Dave for their participation in the whole event. Dave froze, perking up slightly.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"It's quiet, that's all. And Vince is gone, I can't see him anymore. You think everything's in action?"

"We didn't get the signal," Sam argued, "Something must be wrong."

"Don't say that."

"Well, it's true," Sam picked himself up, "I'm going to investigate."

"Sit back down," Dave snapped.

"You may tell me where to dig, Dave, but you don't tell me what to do," Sam sneered, pushing his way past. He paused, a chill running up his spine as a scream cut through the cool air. "Something's wrong," Sam repeated, the words ringing of a new truth. Dave was on his feet. Wordlessly, they ran to the front of the gym. Everyone was gone except for...

"Who is that?" Dave demanded, Sam being the first to reach the huddled form by the gym door.

"It's Menlo...he's hurt," Sam cried, by the crumpled man at once, "Ashley T.'s over here as well. She doesn't look harmed but she's passed out."

"The door's locked," Dave hissed, tugging at the handle, "Where are the others?" A gunshot rang into the night air and both boys frowned at the gym door.

"Inside," Sam voiced what both young men had already surmised, "I know another way in, Dave, go call for help."

"What? No, tell me how to get in and I'll go, you can call for help," Dave protested.

"Look, don't argue, it doesn't sound like we have time," Sam sneered, "Just go." Dave frowned, turning to run, and then freezing.

"Smoke," he stuttered, "There's smoke. There's a fire..."

"Inside?"

"Well, duh, inside! Sam, we have to get these two away from the building!" Dave slipped his hands under Ashley T., gently lifting her off the ground. Sam nodded, frowning at Menlo. "I'll help with him, we have to be careful. Check to see how bad he is..." Sam knelt down, pressed his fingers against Menlo's wrist.

"I don't...I don't think there's a pulse..." Sam whispered, "No! Wait, there is one. It's faint." Dave was back beside him.

"Grab his feet, I'll get his head," Dave commanded. Without protest, Sam did as he was told. Between them they struggled to carry Menlo to the other side of the playground where Dave had set Ashley T. With gentle movements, they lay Menlo flat on the blacktop. Sam broke into a sprint back towards the building.

"Call the fire department," he called over his shoulder. Dave's brow furrowed.

"Sam, get back here!" he yelled, "You can't go in there!" But his brother was gone, ducked behind the building out of sight. "Damn," Dave spat, looking around. Where would he call the fire department? He looked down at Ashley T., passed out on the ground. She undoubtedly had a cell phone. It was a good place to start.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ stayed perfectly still, his eyes darting around the room. He could feel the pain in his right arm, ripping through his tendons, his muscles, and his veins. The blood was rushing to the area, eager to help seal up the wound, but spilling out down his arm, racing to his wrist and hand. No one breathed.

"What happened?" Gus finally said. He was on the ground, ducking. A reaction. A good reaction now that TJ thought about it. Maybe a reaction he should have had. Mikey was in much the same position, but closer to TJ. He'd tried to drag TJ down with him. Blood was splattering on Mikey's shoulder and clothes, his hand.

"Are you alright, TJ?" Mikey asked, and the words seemed to shake TJ from the stunned trance. He cried out with the pain finally, his hand coming to his arm. He sank down to the ground beside his friends.

"It's okay," he whispered, "It...it just skimmed my arm..." And taken a considerable chunk with it from what the two onlookers could see.

"A bullet?" Gus demanded, looking around frantically.

"Only one..."

"Randall had a gun...maybe a misfire on his part?" Gus suggested.

"I don't think so," Mikey shook his head, "He looked like he knew how to use the thing."

"Maybe he panicked," Gus shrugged, "It's dark."

"Can we figure this out later?" TJ snapped, "Spinelli is still..."

"Help." The boys perked up, startled. It was a harsh whisper, a girl's voice. "Someone..." Pleading. TJ was up at once, moving through the labyrinth and finding the spill. Boxes, scattered across the floor, squashed open. There was movement, beneath a small cave in the boxes. TJ climbed over them, Gus beside him, with Mikey watching uncertainly. They began moving the obstructions, TJ proving to be little help. Mikey eventually came over as well. It wasn't a long time until they uncovered Ashley A.

"What happened?" TJ demanded.

"Vince...I...where is he? He was with me...but he's gone now..." Ashley A. mumbled, trying to lift herself up. She winced, as placing pressure on her ankle proved to be a painful endeavor. Mikey steadied her. "I can't walk," she moaned, "I think I twisted my ankle."

"From the looks of things, it could have been worse," Gus mused, then lowered his eyes, "Vince could be worse..."

"You guys get Ashley A. out of here," TJ murmured, "Gus, take her out. Mikey, look for Vince, and any of the others...I guess...I'm going to keep looking for Spinelli."

"TJ..." Gus started to argue.

"I'm fine."

"But TJ..."

"Just go!"

With hesitant steps, Gus led Ashley A. back the way they'd come. Mikey stared blankly at the boxes before moving to shuffle through them. TJ looked to his arm, frowning at it. It was bleeding profusely. He searched for something to tie it off, found Mikey holding a cloth before him.

"Thanks," TJ mumbled, taking the offering and struggling to tie it around his injury before Mikey stepped in to do it for him.

"What are you going to do?" Mikey asked, nonchalantly.

"About?"

"Spinelli." TJ frowned at the knotted bandage, Mikey's neat handiwork. Mikey stepped back, looked frowningly down at the spilled boxes, "You still love her. She still loves you."

"That's arguable...I know I still love her but..." TJ sighed. It was no use. Things were complicated now. Things were out of hand. Out of his hands. He'd promised the others that they'd be out of danger, but looking around, they weren't out of danger. It was his fault, again. Taking responsibility meant nothing, people would still die, Spinelli would still be heartbroken and hurt.

"She still loves you, TJ," Mikey's words were convinced. He was convinced he was right. "The way she argued your plan, sending yourself into the clutches of Clara. The way she tries so hard not to look at you when you're around. She wants to hate you, TJ, I think...because that would make it easier on her, if she hated you. But she can't hate you. You two are meant to be together."

"Things don't always go according to plan, even cosmic plans," TJ snapped, "I'm sorry, Mikey, but this isn't going to be a happy ending. I've apologized, told her how I felt, explained everything to her. It's on her hands now. I prefer it this way anyhow, her not talking to me, maybe hating me...after what I did..." he trailed off, looking forward, "Make sure everyone's safe, Mikey, and stay safe yourself." He slipped through the darkness, Mikey unable to call after him, to stop him.

TJ moved forward in the darkness, saw the leaping flames. He heard noise, some motion.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli stared up with horror, trying to move out of the way of the axe, trying to escape and knowing it was no use. The weapon was raised, ready to fall and Spinelli tried to shut her eyes, to shut out her helplessness. There was a tap, on the attacker's shoulder, and she turned. A fist flew connecting evenly with the crazy woman's jaw. The axe dropped harmlessly to the ground and she stumbled backwards, revealing a young redheaded woman standing behind her.

"Leave my friends alone, bitch," Gretchen spat, then, drawing her breath in between gritted teeth, and pulling her fist towards her, "That really hurts," she whined, "How do you do it, Spinelli?"

"Whoa, Gretch," was all the bound young woman could muster, then, with a relieved smirk, "The pain's half the fun."

"You..." Clara seethed, tightening her grasp on the axe's handle. Gretchen grimaced, falling beside Spinelli and rushing to undo the tape bonds.

"Get us out of here..." Spinelli whispered, trying to help, and only making things worse.

"You'll be first," Clara howled, stepping forward with the axe raised once more. Gretchen threw the last of the tape to the ground in disgust, going to help Spinelli to her feet. They were too late, the axe hovering above their heads. Another form came from the shadows, tackling Clara, and grabbing her arms.

"Oh man," Spinelli muttered, her voice soft and groggy, "Someone's looking out for me, up there..." Clara fell back, the axe clattering to the ground. TJ stood before them, clutching his side, gasping in pain.

"Get out of here, girls," TJ told them, his eyes completely focused on Clara, who was positively fuming.

"TJ," Gretchen whispered, Spinelli leaned heavily against Gretchen, the heat and emotions and the struggle of the last few days getting to her. She was barely able to stay conscious.

"Teej..." she moaned. He didn't glance to her, his eyes boring into Clara.

"Get her out of here, Gretchen," TJ said steadily, "I'll be right behind you." He saw Clara watch them leave with hungry eyes gleaming in the firelight. Her hair was matted to her head, and both of them were covered in sweat and dirt.

"Why do you protect her?" Clara snarled, "_Why?_"

"I love her," TJ shrugged, "Why don't you understand that? I care for both of them, and love her." Clara pouted, tears mingling with sweat.

"You love _me_," she protested, "I'm perfect. She's not perfect..."

"But she is. She's perfect to me," TJ argued.

"She's flawed, you of all people should know that. She's hateful, a liar, she's not very pretty...she hurts everyone..."

"Everything about her makes her perfect. Her flaws make her perfect," TJ whispered, "You're looking at it wrong, Clara. You want to be perfect but it's impossible. You're only human...I love Spinelli, Clara, because she's not perfect. Which makes her perfect for me, because I'm not perfect."

"But...what about me?"

"I don't know if anyone's ever told you this before, Clara, but you're kind of insane."

"I...I..." Clara frowned at the ground, her eyes rolling to the axe beside her. She seemed to fall short. Her mind seemed to be reeling with this statement. Insane? How could she, someone so perfect, possibly be insane? "But...you...I...mama went out...and she didn't come back...mommy, I'm a good girl, I try to be...you should be mine! But then...I...wanted to stop them...I wanted to...mama and daddy, they never got along...I had to go live with mommy, but she wasn't mommy anymore...I don't understand...not perfect...never perfect...far from perfect..." TJ stepped back, he knew he should seize the opportunity to run, but he couldn't peel his eyes from the woman before him. Her face was constantly contorting at each voice change. She seemed to be arguing with herself, talking amongst herself, losing control of whatever she felt she had control of before. "Father was a fool. Perfection is nothing...perfection is everything..." Her eyes lit up, falling on TJ. "You betrayed us."

"What? Us?" She knelt, slowly taking the axe back into her hands.

"I'm not perfect?" she stepped forward, and TJ felt his heart stop, "You'll see, I'll be perfect...we'll be perfect together..."

* * *

END A/N: Now, first of all, for all of you wondering. I never said that any of them died, that any of them were successfully killed. I never confirmed any death. SO, there.

A note on Clara/Mary Anna/Brenda/Non-Identified: She's got a multiple personality disorder thing going on, real bad, but just to note. First of all, it's not exactly MPD, because usually in MPD, the dominant personality is aware of the others, but the others aren't aware of one another...yup...also, for telling them apart. Clara says "father" and "mother". Mary Anna says "mama" and "daddy", southern style. Brenda says "mommy" and "daddy". And the unidentified woman says "he" and makes no reference to a mom figure.

Mmmm....**_REVIEW_**!

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

Thanks for Reading. Now, go run around the house naked.


	33. Can't Stand The Heat

A/N: You know how I said the last chapter and the one before it took a long time to get up...forget about them, THIS ONE TOOK FOREVER!  I wrote it over the course of three days though.  It was Killing the Daisies that took forever, actually...hehe...I had to write chapter 8 of that story first, I just _had_ to...  I'm sorry it took so long.  Bet you all were wondering if I gave up on this story...I haven't, I plan on finishing it, all in due time.  I'm trying to fight the urge to just give it this really rushed ending and be done with it, trying to stick to the plan that I have laid out.

Thanks to the reviewers, my loyal readers, whom my greatest apologies is extended to for the long wait:

SteffieWitter96: I don't know if it should be made into a movie...but thanks for the compliment!  And I'm glad it was cleared up.  I don't mind that you lurked, I'm just so ecstatic you're not anymore!

iluvdanbyrd: Yeah, a little of the TJ cheekiness is returning...which is a good thing.  Insane people do make the story better...don't they, just?  You think it helps that I'm utterly insane as well?

RavenForever: Good, good, you're still alive.  Wouldn't want you keeling over while I still have chapters to post for your reviewal.  Yup.  I'm totally psyched about starting my new stories, but I'm trying not to get too worked up as I need to finish this first.

TNPD: I don't know if Randall died.  And yes, they are all the "same" person in essence...everything will be better explained in the end.

Sarah: Writing a good story doesn't give me super powers.  I just happen to have super powers.  And that little suggestion at the end of the story wasn't me trying to utilize my powers on you, I was just giving you a suggestion.  Come on, I know you did just that when you were finished reading, admit it.  No, Butch hasn't fired the gun.

momo-chan: She's a lot more than 4 people in one, I just haven't divulged all her personalities yet...and it's a little more complicated then MPD.  Yeah, Gretchen punching the psycho...another moment I was excited about writing, that I had planned and ready from the moment I started writing this little psychological thriller.  Sorry if I pushed your patience...but I think I'm developing carpel tunnel syndrome and...um...yeah...excuses, excuses...

DAGL: Yup.  WOW.  But what did you really think of that chapter...what pulled at your heartstrings, what pushed you out of your chair and onto your feet in an emotional uproar?  I see...you're the strong silent type, I can work with that...

Trisk: The root word of revelations is not realize; it's reveal.  Gives a completely new meaning to the word.  Say it with me now, "Ohhhhh"....thanks for the reviews, bud.

Music Rec: Aerials or Chop Suey by System of a Down would be good.  Now, on to babbling.  Guess what I downloaded?  Guess?  You'll never guess.  Not only did I d/l the Fraggle Rock Theme song, but I went overboard and got the Rescue Rangers theme, the Gummi Bears theme, Talespin theme, Ducktales, Gooftroop, Bonkers, and a bunch of powerpuff girls songs including their end theme.  WHOA.  Oh, and I was extremely excited when I was finally able to d/l Donna Lewis's song I Love You Always Forever (look for use of this song in a fanfic coming soon...), which is next to nearly impossible to get, from my experience.  But don't worry, I still buy CDs.  I'm anxiously awaiting the arrival of my Green Day American Idiot Cd, as well as my Frou Frou, Mandalay, Emiliana Torrini, and Daughter Darling CDs!  YAY!  I also bought Recess, a Miracle on Third Street (The Christmas DVD).  I'm thrilled, and my wallet is considerably dented.  And you've stopped reading this, haven't you?  Oh well.

3 down, 2 or was it 3 to go...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 33: Can't Stand The Heat

Ring. Ring. Click. "Hello?" Dave nearly hopped with excitement when the disgruntled voice filled the phone, but simmered down long enough to realize he had nothing to say.

"Um...hi..." Dave mumbled. What could he possibly tell this man that wouldn't cause him to hang up? Oh, simple. "There's a fire, at Third Street Elementary."

"What?" the man seemed to shuffle, and it sounded as though he dropped the phone, "On fire?"

"The gym, it's on fire," Dave went on, "And I think there are people trapped inside. And there are people who need medical attention, now."

"Where are you? Who is this?"

"I'm outside of the school...this is Dave, my brother Sam...oh god, you have to hurry...he went in there and..."

"Calm down, young man, people are on their way."

"They have to hurry...or they'll be too late...please..."

"I need you to stay on the phone." Dave nodded, knowing that it didn't matter, as the man on the other end of the line couldn't see him. He stared at the gym, saw smoke rising into the air, felt his heart pounding in his chest. Where did Sam go? Why didn't he stop him? Dave was the older brother, the one who should be rushing in the gym, risking life and limb, not Sam. Sam was Dave's baby brother, his best friend...his...his own blood and bones. "Please, hurry," Dave whimpered into the phone, "I can't lose my brother...I just can't..."

-0-0-0-0-

Ashley B. felt her way around the dark, her hand trailing along the boxes. She stopped, heard the clack of shoes against the gym floor, they were close. She sank to the ground, her eyes tear filled. Where was everyone? Randall, Ashley Q., Francis, they were all gone. She buried her head, tears catching on her arms, falling down to her chin.

There were noises, gunshots, laughter, screaming, shouts. It was a mess. Ashley B. closed her eyes tightly, scrunching next to one of the boxes and pretending she was anywhere but there. Someone would come. Eventually, someone would come, right? Shuffling, boxes falling, moving. Ashley B. straightened, scanning the darkness for movement. There, in the shadows, someone's outline skulking through the dark. She searched the ground for a weapon, sighing. There was nothing, of course. She fell back against the boxes, which moved, scraping against the floor loudly. The figure paused, and Ashley B. stiffened, her heart pounding. She covered her mouth, trying to shut out her breathing that sounded, in that eerie silence, supersonically loud.

The outline of the figure shifted, moved towards Ashley B. She felt around her, the boxes, on top of the boxes, the floor, looking for a weapon. He was upon her; she stood, swung out pathetically with her fist. He grabbed her arm, groaned.

"What are you doing? It's me, Sam," the figure cried out and Ashley B. felt relief wash over her, flinging her arms about his neck.

"I have never been happier to see a man," she exclaimed, and Sam stood perfectly still for a moment, most likely blushing, gently bringing his hands up to pat her back.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked and Ashley B. pulled away, flushed and nodding.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I think."

"Where are the others?"

"We got separated when the door closed and the lights went out. Hey, how did you get in here?" Ashley B. demanded, his face becoming clearer as he produced a small flashlight from his pocket, flicking it on.

"Good, the batteries still work..." he mumbled, then looking up, "How'd I get in? Oh, there's a window over the dumpsters...it's high off the ground, so you can get in but you really can't get out..." Sam fiddled with the tiny flashlight a little, "But it's alright, so long as Dave was able to get a hold of someone. Now, you said that you got lost from the others."

"I didn't say I got lost..." Ashley B. spat, "I said we got separated when the lights went. You climbed on a dumpster to get in here? And how come we didn't see the window before?"

"Sure I did, I know the dumpster is unsanitary, but I kind of thought your lives were a bit more important. And the window was boarded up, I assume when the school shut down. I remembered it was there from when...back when we still attended Third Street." Ashley B. raised an eyebrow skeptically, "Hey, my nose wasn't always in the dirt as a kid!"

"Speaking of nose in the dirt," Ashley B. smirked, wiping at Sam's nose, "Don't you ever bathe?"

"What for?" She shook her head.

"How's Ashley T.?"

"Fine, sleeping, out like a rock," Sam shrugged, "Menlo's hurt bad. But sitting and chatting about things isn't helping. We have to find the others and get out of here before the fire completely...erm..." he trailed off, not wanting to finish his thought and seeing that Ashley B. didn't want him to either. "Shall we, then?"

"Yeah, I think Randall headed in this direction, I assume Francis and Ashley Q. tried to follow him," Ashley B. pointed foreward, frowning ever so slightly, "I think I'm going to find that psycho bitch and punch her lights out."

"Ashley Q.? I thought you two were friend," Sam mumbled.

"No, that Clara witch," Ashley B. frowned, walking foreward, confident now with Sam beside her, and the little luminance provided by his flashlight.

"I hope everyone's alright," Sam said, with little faith in his voice, "This has gone from bad to worse..."

"Yeah, I thought the worst thing I would have to deal with this week was my divorce settlement," Ashley B. muttered.

"Divorce?"

"I guess it's nothing to be ashamed of really...yeah, I'm getting a divorce. No big deal, I suppose, I mean I am the one leaving his sorry ass," she explained, then paused, "Why is it so hard to hate someone? My soon-to-be-ex-husband is the lowest kind of scum you could ever meet, but he was my lowest kind of scum..." Sam eyed her sympathetically.

"I know what you mean," he spoke up and she snorted lightly, doubtfully, "Oh, I do. My brother...I just can't hate him. As much as I try, I can't. How can it be so hard? Huh? He hates me, and he makes it look so damned easy while he's at it."

"What do you have to hate your brother for, and more importantly, why does he hate you?" Sam sighed, looking to Ashley B. warily. She seemed interested, which was odd for an Ashley, especially for that particular Ashley standing before him.

"Things that we said, things we fought about. His wife, mostly," Sam shrugged. It was probably the severity of the situation they were in that was making the both of them so candid.

"He's married?" she nearly choked it out, then seeming to consider the idea, shrugged, then looking a little sheepish, her eyes on the ground, "What about your wife?"

"Non-existent."

"Oh, I see," she said in a manner that suggested anything but.

"She's a gold-digger, his wife," Sam explained, "And as much as I love digging..." Ashley B. chuckled slightly at the bad joke. Laughter stifled their fear.

"It's funny..."

"What?" She paused, chewing her lower lip slightly, the faded lipstick and smeared make-up looked odd considering her usual precision perfect face. She looked better like that, Sam mused.

"I don't know, I've never heard you talk this much before. I guess it's because I've never really been around you when Dave wasn't there...Dave does all the talking," she looked ahead, her eyes narrowing, "There's someone up ahead." Sam turned as well, shining the light on the forms. Ashley Q. sat, her back leaned against the boxes, Francis's head resting in her lap. They're eyes were closed, and there was blood everywhere. Ashley B. rushed forward, falling to her knees, her arms about her friend at once.

"Please be okay..." she cried, "Ashley Q., please wake up..." Eyes fluttered, a confused frown falling into place along pristine lips.

"Ashley B...why are you yelling?" she whispered, "I'm fine."

"There's all this blood," Ashley B. cried, falling back.

"It's Francis...it's his..." Ashley Q. shifted slightly and Francis stirred. Ashley Q. narrowed her eyes on Sam, "Shouldn't you be outside?"

"There's a fire..." Sam started.

"I thought I saw smoke," Ashley Q. murmured, looking down to Francis, "He passed out...hasn't moved since. It's his shoulder. I tried to...but I'm not exactly packing a first aid kit, so..." Sam bent down, searching his pocket for his handkerchief, and examining Francis.

"You have to help me move him. We need to get him out of here, we need to get you guys out of here," Sam told them distractedly.

"What about the others?" Ashley B. demanded.

"Yeah, I thought I heard Ashley A. scream earlier..." Ashley Q. put in.

"I don't know...I'm not very good at this," Sam cried, "The best I can think of is to get to the front exit, it's the only way out. The others will head that way too. If they're not there, I'll go back in and search for them." He lifted Francis to a sitting position, examining the gaping wound in Francis's arm and frowning. Ashley Q. had attempted to use her jacket as a tourniquet, but it wasn't very well done, sloppy and not tight enough. The blood had already managed to soak through. Sam removed it, finding his handkerchief, tying it around Francis's arm.

"How did this happen?" Ashley B. questioned.

"I got distracted, there was this doll on the ground...if Francis hadn't...then I would be dead..." Ashley Q. explained, eyes focused on the injured young man.

"A doll...?" Sam pressed, looking up to meet her eyes, "Like...a doll, doll?"

"Yes, a porcelain doll. I stepped on it...it broke," Ashley Q. cried, "What don't you understand?"

"Calm down," Ashley B. hissed, "It's okay."

"No one's ever...for me..." Ashley Q. whispered, "I mean, I don't even think my husband..."

"Let's think about this while we move," Sam snapped, attempting to lift Francis and shooting a meaningful glance towards the Ashleys. They shifted to help him, so that between Ashley Q. and Sam was Francis, and Ashley B. walked before them with the flashlight. They made their ways to the front door.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ was tired. He'd stared down Clara for the last time that night, he'd already decided. No matter what happened, he would end it all right there in that gym. Problem was, she had the axe, he was worn and beaten, and the situation did not favor him in any light. He wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing warily to the raging fire, then back to Clara holding firmly to the glistening blade stained with blood. He barely dodged the first swing, feeling the cool metal brush along his skin, a shudder racing along his spine. He fell to the ground, was up in an instant grimacing with the pain that surged through his ribcage and found himself dodging another swing.

"Stop this, Clara, you need help," TJ pleaded, knowing it was useless.

"Clara isn't talking to you right now," a calm voice seethed, "You broke her heart."

"Then who am I talking to?" TJ cried, falling out of the way of another swing, and feeling the blunt handle of the axe connect with his shoulder blade, jolting his body, "Mary Anna?"

"No," was the sweet acid whisper, "I am the first."

"First...Brenda?" TJ tried, but when there was no response, he knew he'd guessed wrong. Somehow, he thought, if he knew who he was talking to then maybe he could calm her down and get a conversation going, get her to stop trying to kill him. "I don't know who else you could be!" he groaned, as one of the swings scraped along his stomach. He gasped, more from shock than pain, but he could already see the blood seeping through and around the slight tear in his shirt. He looked to that woman, his eyes widening, one last name worth trying, "Maryland?" A smile spread along the woman's thin chapped lips.

"You can call me mom," came her seedy response. She had paused, stopped with the violent attacks.

"You are Maryland, then," TJ whispered.

"Yes, and no," the woman laughed and TJ narrowed his eyes at her, "When she broke, the original, someone had to take her place. Someone perfect. I am perfect. I am the perfect Maryland."

"Why?" TJ demanded, "Why do this to us? To all of us? Why hunt us down like this? Attack us? _Stalk_ us?"

"I never intended to hurt anyone," Maryland shrugged, "I was only searching for perfection. Just trying to fix what was broken..."

"And the messages...? What did they mean?" Maryland's face contorted with confusion, scrunched up.

"Messages...?"

"In brown envelopes?" TJ pressed.

"I never sent messages," Maryland shrugged, "But I can't exactly speak for all the girls...they do have minds of their own, you know. Mary Anna wanted to kill everyone, in a blaze of fire...but she doesn't have a right to make suggestions, you see, we're not talking to her. But Clara...oh, she does me proud, this was all her doing. Trickery, endless trickery...brilliant really. It only got better, when you loved her..."

"But I don't love her, I never did," TJ whispered tersely, and then realized he shouldn't have. Maryland's eyes flickered with pain and emotion; she became Clara, as TJ could tell from her altered mannerism, and the axe was raised once more.

"You were a fool to trick me like that," Clara hissed, "Mother and father will not stand for it...you'll be taught a lesson! We all must learn our lessons." Her face became placid; she turned her head, staring into the dark void of the gym. "Coming..." TJ knew an opportunity when he saw one, springing forward and grabbing the woman's arms, holding them stationary and attempting to knock the axe from her hands. She struggled, but was too startled to make a good effort of retaliation, her weapon of choice inevitably clattering to the ground and her, falling back unceremoniously on her rump.

TJ, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath, kicked the axe into the darkness, staring down at Clara, Maryland, Mary Anna or Brenda, he wasn't quite certain who she was at that moment. She frowned at him, pouting.

"I tried...I tried..." she whined, and TJ fell to his knees.

It was cold. The gym, the world, everything felt so cold. He balanced himself, gracelessly, his hands pressed against the smooth floor of the gym. Sit-ups...he hated doing sit-ups. He'd only ever managed to do seventeen in the minute time they were given, though once he pushed to twenty-three. Vince always did somewhere around sixty, seventy. Overachiever. That's what TJ used to call him jokingly...affectionately. Spinelli used to manage thirty, forty, sometimes fifty on a good day. Super girl. She always did the most out of all the girls. Mikey never did sit-ups; he had some excuse. Gus would usually do thirty, whatever the bare minimum for a passing grade was, but he never tried too hard. It's not how many you can do really fast, rather then how many you can do, he would always say. If there was no time limit the boy could do sit-ups forever; at least, that's what he claimed. Five, ten, from Gretchen, if she was lucky. What's the physical impressiveness of being able to sit-up contingently at a ridiculous speed, she'd always ask.

Sleep sounded good at that moment. TJ felt the rubbery skin of Clara's hands slipping around his neck. He struggled slightly, but when she didn't squeeze, didn't attempt to strangle the life from him, he gave up, rolling his eyes to look at her.

"Can we stay here?" she whimpered, tears streaming down her dirt and blood stained cheeks, "Together? Mommy, daddy..." TJ gently took her hands from his neck, attempting to sit up, staring curiously at her.

"Who...?" he began to ask, but stopped. It didn't matter. She was scared, he could tell, shaking. She wasn't Clara, wasn't Mary Anna, and most definitely wasn't Maryland. He tried to comfort her. "We can't stay here," he told her, "There's the fire...we have to leave."

"But mommy...and daddy..."

"They'll be okay," TJ whispered, not sure what else to say. She slipped into his chest, hugging him tightly.

"Fire...I'm afraid of fire..." she confided and TJ slipped an arm around her.

"It's alright..." he told her stiffly, uncertainly. What was going on? Did it matter? Maybe it was all right. Maybe everything would be all right. He winced, feeling the object slide into his side, puncturing skin and flesh, closing his eyes. Or not. The woman fell back, Clara burning in her eyes.

"The river ran red once," she said gleefully, pulling the screwdriver from TJ, blood flowing freely from the open wound.

"How many times am I going to die today?" TJ moaned, feeling the blood rising in his throat, his focus was blurring, but he narrowed his eyes on Clara, who was babbling about something or the other that he couldn't understand, "Now...normally I don't hit girls..." he started, his fist slamming heavily against her cheek. She fell across the room, and didn't rise again, "But I'm playing on the hope that at least one of you isn't a girl..." He looked to the fire, now rising up to the heights of the gym, flouncing along the floor, and catching every box along the way. He fell back heavily, his hand covering the injury, blood seeping through his fingers, catching in his shirt. There was too much for the cloth to soak up completely, it was forming a puddle in his lap, trickling to the ground. He spat, thick red mixed with saliva hitting the floor. Coughing, more blood followed. He looked to Clara's unmoving form, frowning. "You ruined my life..." he mumbled, "But I guess I ruined yours, maybe that makes us even..."

"She was crazy to begin with, TJ," the voice was soft, close. TJ's head lolled to the side, his eyes finding Vince crawling through the smoke and boxes, mouth covered with his shirt.

"What do you want?" TJ demanded as best he could. He was feeling lightheaded, from the loss of blood and long weary hours of pushing his body further and further past it's limit.

"To get us out of here...the fire's out of control, we have to get to the exit," Vince told him. TJ's eyes fell on Clara and Vince followed.

"What about her?"

"I can only carry one person," Vince informed him.

"Then only carry one," TJ whispered, sinking further into himself, "Get her out of her, Vince. It's not fair. We can't kill her twice..._I _can't kill her twice..." he nearly choked on those words, feeling their burning accusation.

"And I can't lose my best friend twice," Vince snarled, turning back to TJ, "I'm not leaving you here to die while saving your would-be killer."

"You will, because you hate me," TJ argued.

"No, I don't."

"Then I'll make you hate me."

"TJ, she isn't your fault," Vince hissed, "You didn't do this to her, something before...something else happened before that did this to her. She was crazy from the start. Taking her out of here won't save her, she'll still be this way...she'll still be crazy. And that won't be your fault. And what happened all those years ago, it wasn't your fault. It was no one's fault. If I stop blaming you, TJ, will you stop blaming yourself?"

"Vince...I can't..."

"No. I am not leaving here without you. I am not facing the others, I am not facing Spinelli, and telling them, telling her that I left you here to die," Vince snarled, "And I sure as hell ain't facing them with that bitch in my arms, got that?"

"Spin...she hates me anyways...it's better if I die, then she won't have to make any of those hard decisions I put on her to make," TJ muttered.

"She doesn't hate you, TJ. I don't hate you," Vince whispered, "None of them hate you. I'm starting to think that it's true...that no one _can_ hate TJ Dettweiler," He extended his hand to TJ, "Let's forgive ourselves, or at the very least, each other?" TJ met his eyes with his bleary gaze.

-0-0-0-0-

Gretchen pressed against the gym door, pushing her weight entirely on it to no avail. She looked to Spinelli who had sat on a box leaning her head back, eyes closed.

"The key," Gretchen demanded, hand outstretched, "Do you have the key?"

"No," Spinelli mumbled, "I checked. I don't know...it fell out of my pocket, or something."

"Damn it."

"Do you think she's prettier than me?" Spinelli asked, her eyes opening slightly, peering out at Gretchen meekly.

"Who?"

"Clara...or Mary Anna...whatever her name is."

"If you want the psycho look..." Gretchen spat, annoyed, "Spinelli, we are locked in, there is a fire, we are going to burn alive, I know we're a little behind, but this is no time for girl chat!"

"I bet TJ thinks she's prettier than me. He feels obligated to be with me...I bet...because we've been friends for so long, because I stuck by him..." Spinelli went on, "But that doesn't change that he is a guy. She has a bigger chest...she's more...more...shapely, like a woman should be. Not like me."

"Okay, Spinelli..." Gretchen sighed, slumping against the door, "Apparently we're all screwed anyways, so I'll say it, yes, she is prettier than you. In most men's opinions, she would be the ultimate wet dream. But let's be honest, TJ is not most men. In fact, TJ's hardly a man. He's a little boy most of the time. He doesn't notice those things that men are supposed to notice. Chest size, leg length, sexiness, he's as oblivious to women's sexuality as you are to the emotions of others. What is this about, anyways?"

"Erm..." Spinelli shifted slightly. She wasn't sure she should say anything. Gretchen had a high opinion of TJ, as did the others, and she didn't want to tarnish that. On the other hand, he did break her heart...she looked back, the way they had come. "Where is he, anyways?" Gretchen bit her lower lip. TJ had said he'd be right behind them, but neither he nor her had believed a word of it. Apparently, Spinelli had.

"I don't know..." Gretchen lied, looking away, fearing the worst.

"You think he's dead, don't you," Spinelli mumbled.

"No." Bad lie. Her voice was too shaky.

"You remember when me and TJ had our first kiss...out behind the dumpsters?" Spinelli said and Gretchen nodded, expecting some great revelation of how she really did enjoy the kiss or something equally inevitable, "I really hated it."

"What? I...why?"

"It wasn't the way a first kiss should be..." Spinelli murmured, "We didn't want to do it...so...we were afraid to enjoy it...so...we didn't. He's a good kisser...in case you're wondering. But that kiss, wasn't very good." She closed her eyes again, lowered her head, "I love him, Gretch. But I...I think we're over...our relationship; it wasn't the way a first relationship should be. We were too...we got too serious, fell too much in love. We were together too long...we never...I never let him be with someone else..."

"He didn't want to be with someone else, Spin," Gretchen argued, "What are you talking about? What is this about?"

"It's my fault. I couldn't tell my parents about him...that's what started this whole mess. And I was jealous...of Mary Anna...I hated her, I pushed it too far...that's why this is all happening..."

"It's not your fault..."

"But it is! I was the reason Mary Anna was unconscious in that building. I hated her, Gretch, because I knew that she could be everything I wasn't. So I...I made sure she wasn't going to be leaving that gym anytime soon, made sure she understood how much I hated her. My fault. And Mundy..."

"Mundy? What does Mundy have to do with anything?"

"He lit the gym on fire, and he...because of me, because I didn't stay, because I had to go with TJ, I had to be with TJ. That's why TJ's back there, back dying, or dead...or worse...because I was selfish, because I wanted him to be with me, because I loved him and I'm oblivious to the feelings of others. I can't even see when the man I claim to love isn't really interested...I couldn't tell my parents, Gretchen, for so many reasons. But mostly because...because if I kept it to myself, then no one would know if he left me, if he dumped me for someone who was developed and looked and acted like a woman. So that, when he left me, because I knew that he would leave me, then my parents couldn't do their sympathetic clucking of their damned tongues and tell me 'oh, pookie, they'll be other boys' or 'oh, well, maybe if you were a little less pushy and forward', or 'maybe if you wore more pretty skirts and make-up, made yourself look nice once in awhile', I couldn't deal with that, Gretch!" her voice broke into a sob, but she made no attempt to hide her tears, "They don't like me, Gretchen, all those guys, they never did. They say they love me; they love how I act like I don't give a damn. The truth is, I can't give a damn. If I did...then...then...I would break...I would just...I couldn't go on...if I spent all that time worrying about what others thought, or felt. I'm not oblivious, Gretch, I just don't want to see. And now I'm seeing...now I'm seeing how TJ feels, wondering what he thinks of me, of what he thinks of other girls..."

"Do you honestly think that TJ would do that to himself? To you? Stay with you because he felt _obligated_? He may be the only one who really does love you because of you, because of all your damn forwardness and every last one of your damned insecurities," Gretchen spat, "You are selfish, Spinelli, _and_ self-centered."

"I guess I am..." Spinelli mumbled, "I don't want to give in, Gretchen, but I'm going to. He's going to want to be with someone else, he deserves to be with someone else, and I need someone else...someone that isn't him...he's bad for me, I'm bad for him. We're bad for each other."

They started when they heard noises, boxes being moved. Gretchen was on her feet at once, scanning the darkness with keen and alert eyes. She saw the first figures move from one side, and backed against the door, glancing to Spinelli. Three figures, moving forward through the darkness. They stopped, staring, undoubtedly, at Gretchen.

"Who's there?" Gretchen called out.

"It's me, Mikey, and Gus, and Ashley A. Is that you, Gretchen?" Both young women relaxed, slumping back, breathing as easily as they could in their position.

"Yeah, Spinelli is with me," Gretchen said and the other's moved forward quickly, Mikey at Spinelli's side.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and she nodded simply.

"The door is locked," Gretchen said, "Spinelli lost the key. We're locked in. And I can see the fire from here, which has me worried. We're stuck..."

"Damn," Gus spat, then looking back to the darkness, "Where's TJ?" They all fell silent.

"Dead, probably," Spinelli said casually, examining her shoes.

"Don't say that," Ashley A. whimpered, "Don't say dead...no one is dead..."

"And we won't be," the strong voice startled them all, and they turned to the other direction where four more figures sporting a light stepped forward, "Dave got through to the police. I heard sirens." Sam, Ashley Q., Ashley B., and Francis's limp body stood before them. They set Francis down on the ground, Gretchen examining him, and Sam stepped towards the door, brow furrowed. Ashley Q. and Ashley B. ran to Ashley A. at once, arms flung around one another, squeals of concern and relief, hugging and crying.

"It's locked," Mikey spoke up.

"I know," Sam said, "But it's more than just locked, it's jammed...with something..."

"Are we stuck?" Gus demanded, glancing back at the raging flames quickly gaining on them.

"Hm...yeah," Francis said, coughing, stirring, and waking up. His eyes opened partially, and somehow he found Ashley Q., standing awkwardly with the other Ashleys. "You okay?" She nodded.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

"Yeah," Francis looked around, eyes falling on Spinelli, "How you holding up, kid?"

"TJ's dead," she said, looking stone-faced into the flames.

"Don't say that," Ashley A. snapped, "You don't know if it's true. He's not dead, he can't die...if he can die...then we all can die...and I don't want to die..."

"Where's Vince?" Gretchen asked, looking to Ashley A., trying to get her mind back to what was important, "And Butch and Randall are missing too?"

"They're probably all dead," Spinelli muttered.

"Shut up," Ashley A. screamed, walking over and promptly slapping Spinelli across the cheek. Spinelli didn't say or do anything, her eyes simply refocusing on the fire.

"Next thing you'll say is you're too pretty to die," she snarled, "But we aren't very pretty, now, are we?"

"You're a bitch," Ashley A. whispered.

"So are you. TJ's dead, have you no sympathy for me?" Spinelli smirked morbidly, "I guess it doesn't matter. We'll all be dead in a moment. Good. If TJ's dead, I want to be dead too."

"She's out of it," Gretchen murmured, shaking her head, "Don't listen to her. She's snapped, exhaustion finally caught up to her."

"But how much of what she's saying is true?" Sam demanded, "Do you know if TJ is alive? Or Vince, or Butch, or Randall? They probably _are_ all dead. We have to stop asking where they are and look how to get out of here. Because I sure as hell ain't waiting for the fire to catch up to us."

"Randall picked the lock before...maybe one of us..." Ashley B. suggested.

"None of us know how to pick a lock," Ashley A. cried.

"That's not entirely true," Francis gargled, "Is it...Spin?"

"Let's just lie down and die," Spinelli muttered in reply, her eyes fluttering shut, "I'm too tired...I don't feel good...I don't want to..."

"Spinelli," Gretchen said sternly, crossing over to stand in front of the woman, "Can you, or can you not, pick this lock?"

"Yup," Spinelli smiled somewhat, sadly, "The delinquent princess...of course, I know how...doesn't mean I will." Gretchen sneered, wrapping her hand in Spinelli's collar and jerking her forward, dragging her to her feet. Ebony eyes snapped open in fury.

"Let me go, Grundler," Spinelli snarled, "You think because you had your little moment back there you can take me on?"

"You want to fight me, Spinelli?" Gretchen demanded, "Do you want to hit me? To beat the living shit out of me because I had the nerve to grab you and tell you what to do? Because I had the nerve to shake you from your self-loathing and whining, and sulking?"

"I didn't...but," Spinelli spat, "I'm starting to..."

"Good," Gretchen hissed, pushing her towards the door, "Because that means you're not ready to give up, there's fight still left in you. Now open that goddamned door."

"But TJ..."

"I love him, Spin, I do," Gretchen stated flatly, "But if he's dead, I don't want to join him."

Spinelli pouted, looking back to the raging flame, back where they'd come from, back where TJ was. She turned to the door, sinking to the floor and examining the lock with an expert eye. She looked to the Ashleys.

"One of you packing a credit card?"

* * *

END A/N: Hmmm........how long will the next chapter take?  I wonder...I'll try and get it up faster.  I'm thinking of putting Killing the Daisies on haitus until I finish this one, what do you guys think?

GASP!  Is Randall dead?  Did TJ take Vince's hand?  Will Clara/Mary Anna/Brenda/Maryland/And every other personaility that trapped inside her ever realize that she's really just one woman?  Does one of the Ashleys have a credit card on them?  Will the gang escape the fire and blaze?  All this and more will probably be answered in the thrilling next chapter of Where the Skeletons Lie....but we can't be certain.

**_REVIEW_**! (That one was for you, Trisk)

Please excuse any and all grammatical and typing errors.

Thanks for reading.  I hope you're all happy.  I'm coming down with the flu, or the common cold, but it doesn't matter because I will be sick!  Cough, cough.

I got nothing witty to say.  I know, I know, the world is ending.


	34. Let The Smoke Clear

A/N: Very short chapter..._very_ short. The next chapter, the last chapter, I predict will be longer, but I make no promises.

Thanks to the reviewers:

TNPD: I hope this doesn't seem rushed to you...yeah, I think sometimes you have to break before you can be fixed; that's how Spin is.

iluvdanbyrd: I think this one doesn't end in a cliff-hanger, though it does leave you with a few last remaining questions, and much needed closure.

RavenForever: I'm allowed to buy all those CDs, I have a job. I work so damn hard too. I have to work the day before Thanksgiving (late into the night), and the day after(early in the morn). We're closed on Thanksgiving. And just for you, I'll update both stories.

Sarah: Yeah, I'm not gonna put Killing the Daisies on haitus, there are a lot of readers for that story that don't read this one, and frankly, it wouldn't be fair to them. So, even though I have to drag my ass around, spend long hours typing, and work my patootie off, I will keepworking on both, though this one is almost over! (YAY!)

DAGL: Yeah, the psycho is...well...a psycho.

goofymonkeychild: YAY! Long time, no review! I don't think you're a snob, I'm just happy whenever I see you're s/n on my review board, and a great deal happier when I see a lengthy review following it much like the one you've given. YUP. I like Gus and Theresa's relationship in this as well. I don't think I can write sap, I hate sap, I don't know what sap is. hun. My updates have slowed down as well, not to mention, the story is coming to its dreaded end. ah, well, it was fun while it lasted.

music recs: Somethingnot so dramatic, a little airy. Dark, and sorrowfilled. I'm thinking, Hallelujah by Rufus Wainwright should hit the spot; or maybe Hold Your Hand by Paul Oakenfield feat. Emiliana Torrini, and maybe, Sleep by Dandy Warhols.

One more chapterto go...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 34: Let The Smoke Clear 

When the police and fire department arrived, the gym was in full blaze. Dave was frantic, watching as the ambulances pulled up, taking both Ashley T. and Menlo away. He heard talk of needing a blood transfusion stat for Menlo. There was also talk of getting in the gym, busting down the door. Dave told them how many people he thought were inside, but even he wasn't certain, and then their conditions were another matter.

"My brother's in there," he told them, "My little brother…I told him not to go in…but…oh, Sammy…"

The fire officials went forward, wielding axes, dressed in the long trench coats and trousers and hats of their trade. Three of them, at least, advanced on the door, when it swung open.

Spinelli was the first out, falling to the ground unconscious. Mikey, Gus, and Gretchen came to her side almost immediately. Ashley A. and Ashley B. rushed out, stepping over Spinelli and gathering away from the building, looking back to her with concern as Mikey lifted the fallen form in his arms, carrying her out to safety. Dave watched with anxiousness, for moments, no one came. He rushed forward, held back by the police officers. Finally, Sam and Ashley Q. made their ways out with steady steps; Francis balanced between them, unconscious as well. The paramedics came to their aid.

"Sam," Dave called, coming to his brother, who was relieved of Francis by a few paramedics, and flinging his arms around him, "Don't ever do that again."

"I'm fine, Dave," Sam assured him, awkwardly returning the embrace.

"There are more people inside," Mikey was telling a fireman, "Five, I believe."

The world seemed a hush as those who were safe stared watching the fire. It engulfed the building now, choking the air with its thick black smoke. Their eyes were glossy, a few had tears streaming down their ash stained faces. A police officer, Sergeant Wallace Braun, stepped forward to the coherent of the group, Gretchen, Mikey, Sam, and Dave.

"I need an explanation," he told them, grim faced. Gretchen assumed the role of unofficial spokeswoman.

"You won't believe us," she whispered, "Fifteen years ago, this gym burned down with a little girl inside. She was enrolled at Third Street as Mary Anna James, but her real name was, as far as I can figure, Brenda James; daughter of Freud James the doll maker. She was inside the building, when it burned down, but she wasn't killed. I don't know how she escaped, but…the reason she was locked inside of it in the first place was the fault of sixteen children, her classmates who despised her, but had not planned for her to be in a fire, or harmed in any such manner. Believing that she was dead, after the fire, they gathered and signed a pact, swearing never to speak of the incident again. They buried the pact, as well as the evidence that tied them to the death of Mary Anna James.

"But I guess that doesn't explain what's going on here, to your satisfaction. As it would turn out, Mary Anna; or Brenda, as I suppose I should call her from now on, is a little on the insane side. From what little I have laid witness to, I would have to say that she displays several pathological tendencies. She suffers from a very strange case of multiple personality disorder, and, from what I can tell, she's a sociopath. What's more, she has a rare pathology that causes her to fabricate these relationships and connections with people that she never possessed. She believes, for one thing, to be the lover of one man in particular and that they both are madly in love. This pathology is, perhaps, mostly attributed to stalkers…"

"Okay…um…" Sergeant Wallace interrupted, "That's real fascinating, ma'am, but what happened here, tonight?" Gretchen met his eyes with a dead stare.

"Brenda came back for those sixteen children."

"You're saying you locked a little girl in a gym when you were kids, and that gym burned down, while she was caught inside; however, she didn't die?"

"Correct."

"And that, fifteen years later, she's come back to make you pay for it. Revenge?"

"I believe so, yes."

"You're right. I don't believe you," the Sergeant shook his head, then turned to the burning building, "How did you kids get in there?"

"The key," Gretchen closed her eyes, heaving a heavy sigh, "She was haunting us…not really wanting to kill us…I don't think she wanted to kill us, at least, not yet."

"Okay, so now you're going back to the psychopath story, aren't you?" Sergeant Wallace demanded and Gretchen nodded.

"I'm not lying," she muttered, "What do you want me to say? That sixteen young adults, living fairly successful lives, and of varying prestige, decided to gather one night at their old school, break into the gym, and light it on fire; _just for kicks_? And then, in turn, these undoubtedly intellectual individuals, not only got themselves into injured positions, went and called the police, fire department, and hospital, indicating themselves in such a heinous crime?"

"Um…" Sergeant Wallace shifted slightly, "Ma'am, with all due respect, this is what I'm seeing. What you're telling me, would you believe it?"

"Some of my closest friends are trapped in that building. They're hurt, may be dying, or even, possibly, already dead," Gretchen stammered, her face contorting with tears, "TJ and Vince…do you honestly think, for one minute, that I would intentionally put myself into this position? Intentionally put my friends into this position?" There was a shock, as Spinelli bolted upright, a commotion as she fought with the paramedic attempting to administer her drugs.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, catching the attention of everyone save the firemen attempting to put out the flames enough so that they may enter the building and search for the missing people, "Where's TJ? What's going on? Where's that bitch, Mary Anna?"

"Spinelli, please calm down," Gretchen soothed, rushing to Spinelli's side.

"Where's TJ?" she asked again, looking to Gretchen almost pleadingly. Gretchen looked downcast, and Spinelli's eyes trailed to the burning building. "He isn't out yet, is he?" her voice was trembling, and the onlookers were quiet, somber. "He's dead."

"You have a great deal of compassion for an ex-girlfriend. I mean, didn't he break your heart?" Ashley B. murmured. Spinelli turned a dangerous glare on the woman.

"That doesn't mean I wanted him dead," she snapped, pulling herself to her feet, and attempting to make her way towards the gym. A few paramedics grabbed her, trying to hold her back.

"Spinelli, what are you doing?" Gretchen asked, helping to hold the trembling woman.

"I'm going in there," Spinelli cried, "I'm going to try and find TJ. If he's dead…then I want to at least make sure that bitch Mary Anna is dead too!"

"Someone's coming out," a man shouted, holding back the hose as the smoke of the doorway cleared. The gang strained their eyes as the figures stumbled forward. Vince and Butch became clearer, moving forward, carrying Randall's lax form. A few paramedics came forward, taking Randall. Spinelli was shaking, her eyes staring intently at that door. No one else was coming.

"No…" she whispered, Gretchen's hand lightly squeezing her shoulder. Her breath caught. With slow and steady movements, a last figure moved out, clutching his side, a red cap casually placed on his head.

"TJ," Gretchen gasped, as she and the others rushed to the last of their group, to greet them, to see how they were. Spinelli stayed back, studying TJ with a careful gaze, unmoving. Blood, dirt, smoke, smeared his skin, his face was a grimace. He refused help from the paramedics, allowing Vince to support his weight, as he moved slowly towards the ambulance. He was ashamed of something. Sad and disheartened. Spinelli ducked inside the white van, the ambulance that would be her transportation to the hospital. She could hear the others outside, with relieved cries of greeting, hugs were being exchanged, laughter. She couldn't face him. He was alive, that's all she needed.

-0-0-0-0-

For the second time on that trip back home, the gang found themselves in the hospital. For Menlo, TJ, Francis, and Randall the night was critical. They'd all lost a great deal of blood, and transfusions were rarely necessary at the small town hospital. They were short on blood donation. A few nurses, and some of the rest of the group, were called to help with giving blood. There was a moment of distress, when the doctors were almost certain they'd lost Menlo. But it passed, when finally, all four young men were deemed stable.

They slept, all of them, well into the next day. It was the following evening, when finally things were being cleared up. Every local news station was covering the gym story, but no names had been released as to who was involved. It was late when the Sergeant Wallace had the group of them, save for the four young men still considered in critical condition, gathered in a white hospital room.

"I'd like to know exactly what went down in that gym," he told them, "I know that the night has been difficult for all of you, but I need to know exactly what happened."

"That's the thing, sir," Vince spoke up, "We're not sure what happened in there. We've all exchanged stories of the account, and none of them make sense, even to us. All we can agree on is that it's over. We didn't light the gym on fire…that was Mary Anna, but…um…"

"If you don't mind, sir," Ashley A. picked up, "We're all very tired, and distraught. Perhaps we can talk about this at a later time, when we all have had a moments rest, and have been able to speak to our lawyers." The Sergeant sighed, shaking his head.

"It won't be necessary, speaking to your lawyers. I can tell that something happened there that night, and that any explanation I receive will be as confusing and as incredible as the next. None of you are being charged for anything more than trespassing, which I've already contacted the school, and they've decided not to press charges. I don't know who this TJ Dettweiler is, but he certainly had some sway over the school board's decision," Sergeant Wallace sighed, "I just wanted to know what happened for the report. If any of you find the time, I'd appreciate if you all stopped by the station before leaving town to give a statement. Have a nice day, all of you." They watched him slip from the room, leaving them in silence.

"Is Mary Anna dead then?" Ashley A. finally whispered, a question that had been on all of their tongues since the night before.

"Yeah, I believe so," Vince answered, "When I left with TJ she was out cold and the fire was almost on her," he lowered his head, examining the floor, "I left her there to die. I know that it was either her or TJ, and I couldn't leave TJ behind…but…still…"

"It's better that she's dead," Spinelli said solemnly, before lifting herself up and exiting the room.

"She hasn't spoken to TJ, yet," Mikey remarked as the door shut.

"I wonder what happened between them," Gretchen mused, "It seems a little more than just a simple break up…TJ seems just as uninterested in getting back together as her, but they still love one another."

"Guilt and misery," Ashley A. commented, "What a happy pair."

"What did happen in there?" Ashley B. whispered, "I mean, all I remember was the lights going out, getting separated from the others, and finding Sam."

"What's been happening the past few weeks?" Butch replied, "The past fifteen years, even? Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary, that is. It seems anticlimactic, if you ask me. You can't bury your secrets without burying yourself." He lifted himself up wearily, heaving a heavy sigh, before heading for the door. He was thinking of going to see Randall, but he didn't feel it was necessary to tell the others that. They sat in silence for a moment, before each dispersing from the room and heading their own ways.

-0-0-0-0-

Gus slipped into the room where Theresa sat rocking their daughter. She was silent, eyeing him through half-closed lids.

"She's sleeping," Theresa whispered. They hadn't spoken since Gus had gotten back to the hospital the night before. He knelt beside her, running his fingers along the peach fuzz on his daughter's scalp. "Is it over?"

"It's over," Gus kissed Theresa gently, "It's over…"

"I decided on a name," Theresa said, "But I wanted to consult someone first…"

"Who?" She smiled softly, closing her eyes and taking her husband's hand.

"I should be mad at you," she told him.

"For what?" Gus asked, brushing the hair from his wife's face and startled to find tears in her eyes.

"What would I have done…if I lost you? What would I have done?" she demanded, "How could you go in there…how could you be so…"

"It's alright, Theresa," Gus comforted, gathering her in his arms, careful of their daughter, "It's over and done. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere." They were silent, as he held his family tightly.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli was taken by surprise when her parents entered the hospital in a rush, Joey trailing behind. They threw their arms about her, crying and sobbing and going on about how they didn't know where she was and how worried they'd been. She saw the Dettweilers making their ways in, Becky gave Spinelli a weak smile, crossing over.

"How are you doing?" she asked, giving Spinelli a brief hug. It wasn't necessary to ask, as Spinelli's looks were more than evident of her well-being. She was a mess, looked like hell, literally.

"Fine," she lied.

"And TJ…?" Spinelli looked away, "He loves you, you know."

"Tell him…tell him I left," Spinelli mumbled, before rejoining her parents to sign her release form. She walked out the door of the hospital, her parents' arms around her. Becky watched in silence, before her own parents beckoned her to follow them down the hall to TJ's room.

The hospital seemed bright compared to the outside. There was a resounding relief through the sixteen conspirators as some began preparing to head home and others were greeted by their parents. They all seemed to agree, that it was indeed, over.

* * *

END A/N: I have to say, I am not loving all the changes fanfiction is making. It's pissing me off. Everything was very efficient in the beginning, and I liked it. Now...ah, oh well. 

Next chapter: The gang goes their separate ways, heading home, and a few last minute things are solved.

PLEASE _**REVIEW**_.

THanks for reading, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and have a nice Turkey Day!

gobble, gobble...


	35. Putting the Pieces Back Together

A/N: Finally! And Update! I know, it took it's time...but I was seriously not wanting this story to end.

Thanks to the reviewers; SteffieWitter96, iluvdanbyrd, xSarah, TNPD, mischief-maker (and where have you been?), RavenForever (don't get in trouble on my account...but if you really want to...), DAGL. Know what guys? I just hit 200 reviews for this story? What does that mean? I need to reward you all! How will I reward you...I decided, I will write a request one-shot. What does that mean? You guys make your requests, (what kind of story would you like to read, what kind of pairing would you like to see) and I'll write it and post it under my Wonderful World of One-shots (which really hasn't been updated in awhile...it appears abandoned...). Now, requests will vary, maybe I'll try and write them all, or maybe I'll meld them into one.

Music Recs: Let's see...hm...hum...I decided on something upbeat, a little punkish, like maybe Blink 182, Sum 41, or Greenday. I've been listening to them lately, a lot, especially since I got my American Idiot cd and I've been writing that Rocket Power fic...(for those who don't know, I branched out to another ff catagory...). Handle This by Sum 41 is good, Feeling This by Blink, and then maybe, Macy Day Parade or Time of Your Life (That's not the title...I can't remember it right now) by Greenday. Oh, or Basketcase by Greenday! Or maybe not...hehe...that is my favorite song though...Greenday is my favorite band, they rock much!

The end is near...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 35: Putting the Pieces Back Together

TJ stood in the hallway of the Spinelli house. He knocked lightly on Spinelli's door. There was shuffling in the room, but nothing more.

"Um…it's me, TJ," he called through the door, "Your mom let me in…um…I just wanted to tell you…I'm going back to New York. I know you said that you weren't going back." He leaned against the door, "I know what I did was wrong. I just didn't know at the time what I was doing…shit, but that's no excuse. I screw up sometimes, it happens, I'm human. I'm not perfect, but neither are you. And it doesn't matter," he sighed, "I guess these past few days we've been through hell…our relationship has been…hell, I don't know what to say. I love you, Spinelli. Our plane leaves today at two, I'm leaving your ticket here. I'll wait for you…at the gate…if you don't come, I'll understand, but I want you to come." He moved away from the door, taking the flight ticket from his pocket and setting it on the floor by the door. He made his way down the stairs and out of the house.

-0-0-0-0-

Randall was startled, to say the least, when Theresa and Gus entered his room. The Griswolds' daughter was held in Gus's arms. Randall was holding his bag, rummaging through it, wearing his nice black dress pants and shirt; freshly cleaned and pressed. He'd had to pay a nurse a good sum to get that done.

"How are you doing?" Theresa questioned softly. He looked between the happy couple, his eyes falling to the small form Gus held.

"Fine," he mumbled, "She looks good, healthy."

"Thanks to you," Theresa said.

"It was a touch and go kind of situation. I got lucky," Randall shrugged, zipping up his bag and slipping the strap over his shoulder, "It's a situation I hope never to encounter again."

"I never thought I'd ever say this to you, Randall, but I'm glad you were there," Gus said, shuffling his daughter slightly to extend his hand, "I have my wife and child because of you. Words can't begin to…"

"Look, I don't need a thank you…" Randall mumbled, "I don't deserve…"

"We were looking for a name," Theresa stepped in, "We thought we'd name her after you…if that's alright."

"What?" Randall held Theresa's gaze, searching for a reason to doubt those words, for insincerity. He knew he wasn't going to find any. How could someone want to name their child after him? A killer? A snitch?

"Now, Randall's not really a girl's name," Theresa chuckled slightly, "We thought Randy would do. She's here because of you, and we want her to know that." Randall looked to the child. She had soft features, a round cherubic face, peach skin, deep blue eyes, and light wisps of brown fuzz along her scalp. She would grow to be beautiful. Gus held her out to him.

"Would you like to hold her?" Randall nodded, placing his bag on the ground and taking the child into his arms. She was surprisingly heavier than when he'd first held her, leading her from her mother's womb.

"She's…small," he commented, and the couple laughed slightly. The child moved somewhat, curling her tiny fingers against his chest, and he smiled. It was one of his few genuine smiles that revealed his youthful age. He'd taken so many lives, and given this one child a chance to live. Maybe…maybe it was his chance, too. "I think…I think…she looks kind of like a Randy."

-0-0-0-0-

The Ashleys stood in the airport, exchanging hugs. Ashley A. brushed the hair from Ashley T.'s forehead, smiling as a man made his way over, a little boy leading him by hand.

"You look beautiful, don't worry," she reassured her lifelong friend. Ashley B. placed a hand on her hip.

"And if he doesn't think so, he has the Ashleys to deal with," she said.

"There's mommy," the little boy cried, leaving the older gentleman and running forward into Ashley T.'s outstretched arms. She lifted him up, hugging him tightly.

"My little Corey," she cooed, as he ran his fingers over the burn scars.

"Does it hurt?" he asked carefully.

"No, not anymore," she answered, eyes downcast. She looked up when she felt a hand behind her neck pulling her forward. Richard was smiling, brushing his lips along her cheek, mouth, forehead.

"You were missed," he told her softly, "Show mommy what you made, Corey." The little boy's eyes lit up, and he squirmed, reaching into his pocket and producing a folded piece of paper, handing it over to his mother who opened it. There was a crude drawing of the family, and a dog.

"Are you hinting at something?" Ashley T. chuckled.

"We could get a puppy and it could be dad's eyes," the boy pouted, "I learned about it in school…"

"We'll talk about it at home," she said, kissing the boy on the forehead before putting him down again and facing here husband with tear filled eyes, "Hi…I…" she started before her husband pulled her into his arms.

"The house hasn't been the same without you," he told her, running his fingers along her lips, "And I've missed that smile."

"I missed you too," Ashley T. whispered, before pulling away, "I should introduce you to my lifelong best friends. These are the Ashleys," she brought one after another forward to her husband introducing them. He traced their faces with tentative fingers.

"So these are the girls?" he joked, and they giggled slightly, "I don't doubt you took good care of my wife," he said taking Ashley T.'s hand, "For that I'm thankful."

Ashley A. perked up slightly when she saw a familiar form standing in the crowd, a man holding an armful of roses.

"Sergio," she called, running forward to his arms. They embraced, exchanging a deeply passionate kiss, "Why are you here? I thought you were on a photo shoot in Malibu!"

"I wanted to surprise you," Sergio replied with a thick Italian accent that caused the other Ashleys to swoon slightly. Ashley A. led him forward and ran through introductions again. "They are all as beautiful as you told me," he said as he placed kisses on each of their cheeks, then shook Richard's hand wholeheartedly. He ruffled Corey's hair as well, commenting; "Now here's a strong little boy. Would this be your picture? Now you are a true artist." Corey beamed.

They gathered around, chatting excitedly, until each Ashley boarded a plane, waving good-byes and heading off to their lives. They had plans now, to keep in better touch, to have more emphasis on one another's lives. Ashley Q. sighed, slumping on a chair in the airport lobby. They were all gone now. She knew they were all a phone call away, but she felt very alone. She found herself looking at brown sneakers, and looked up. Francis stood there looking down, a solemn face, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hi," Ashley Q. mumbled. They were silent. "He left me."

"What?"

"My husband. That's my deep dark secret, the skeleton in my closet. He left me. I knew we didn't have anything special, I knew I didn't love him when we married. I was young, and I…I was so excited. He was rich, suave; every woman wanted him. And he wanted me. So I married him, and I lay in bed late in the night waiting for him to come home. And honestly not caring if he did," she folded her hands in her lap, her head lowered, "He ran away with his secretary. How B-movie is that? I signed the divorce papers moments before the other Ashleys arrived. I didn't really care, because my marriage was a sham anyways. I wasn't heartbroken, didn't feel I lost anything.

"I'm an Ashley. Isn't that supposed to mean something? I thought it did, when I was younger. We fancied ourselves the best, because we rich, and pretty, and trendy…and cold-hearted bitches. I've _never_ been in love. I've never followed my heart, because it didn't always tell me to do the 'Ashley' thing. When I got the papers, I thought if I acted like an Ashley about it, than it wouldn't hurt, knowing I didn't care; knowing it didn't matter. My husband left me! Isn't that supposed to hurt in some way?" Ashley Q. slumped, tears spilling, "I have nothing for me here. I have nothing." They were quiet again.

"I'm going to Greece," Francis finally spoke up, "There's a buyer there for an antique item that I acquired a while back. I was also thinking of shopping the market. It's not often, but sometimes you come across something worth a good sum, that the seller isn't aware of," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, shifting slightly, "You know, I was gonna ride first class, but…uh…I could always exchange the ticket for two coaches."

"Ashleys don't ride anything less than first class," Ashley Q. muttered. Francis nodded.

"I figured," he shrugged, turning to leave.

"Though," Ashley Q. whispered and he paused, "I think I want to do the un-Ashley thing for a while, see where that gets me." Francis smirked, extending a hand to her.

"Well, today it gets you to Greece," he said, she took his hand, "And who knows, maybe you'll find love there."

"Maybe. You mentioned shopping…"

-0-0-0-0-

Sam lowered the final suitcase into the trunk of his car. He slammed it shut only to find himself looking at Dave.

"So, you're really going through with this?" Dave asked.

"Yup," Sam nodded, "I found a few interested buyers in my share of the company…you can talk to them and…"

"No," Dave interrupted, "I'll take the share. You may want to come back…and I want the opening available. You're still my brother, Sam, so what's mine is yours. Where are you going to go?"

"I think I'm just going to drive," Sam shrugged, "I'm heading for the West Coast, but if I find something along the way…well…I'll be in touch."

"When are you coming back?"

"I don't know if I will be."

"I was just asking…because…well, I thought my kids might want to meet their uncle," Dave shrugged, "That is, if he wants to meet them." Sam smiled.

"I'd like that." They fidgeted, before briefly embracing awkwardly. Sam slipped into the car, waving, as he tore down the road.

-0-0-0-0-

Butch felt a smile pull at his lips when he saw the young man clad in black come upon him at the bus stop. He stood, brushing the dirt from the bench off his pants. Randall looked worse for wear, a few bandages here and there. The hospital said he'd recovered fast from the bullet wound, which was a little odd to them. They said he was lucky to be alive at all.

"Looks like we're riding the same bus," Butch commented and Randall nodded, taking a stance beside him.

"So, you're heading to Boston, too?"

"Yup. Maybe we can get a drink at a bar sometime."

"Sounds good to me." They stood in silence, as that was their nature. The bus pulled up and several people loaded on before the two.

"Wait!" a young man was calling, "Wait for me!" Randall and Butch turned to watch the wiry, breathless boy running up the walk towards them. He stopped, gasping for breath.

"Menlo?" the both cried in unison.

"Oh my god," Randall muttered noticing the bus ticket in the prim young man's hand.

"What are you doing here?" Butch asked.

"I had a savings account," Menlo said between gasps for breath, "That my mother didn't know about," he knelt forward, gulping and heaving, "I emptied it, quit my job, packed my things, left mother a note, found out where you two were headed, and bought a bus ticket. I decided it was time to see the world, and I thought, who better to show it to me than two travel-weary friends of mine?" He straightened, slinking his arms over their shoulders and grinning broadly.

"He's staying with you," Randall told Butch, "You know that, right?"

"No way, he's bunking with you," Butch argued, as Menlo skipped onto the bus, the two bickering young men trailing behind.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Randall suggested. They stuck their fists in, shook them three times, until, "Ha! Rock beats scissors!"

"Best two out of three?"

-0-0-0-0-

TJ slumped in the airport lobby, startled slightly when Vince joined him, handing him a soda. They sat sipping their drinks, quiet. They hadn't talked much since the events at the gym. Of course, TJ had been unconscious and in the hospital most of the time.

"I can't believe you're leaving so soon," Vince finally said, "I'd figured you'd stay awhile longer, rest up."

"I still have an article to work on," TJ mumbled, "A job to get back to. I'll watch your game, on the set."

"No, you won't. You never liked watching sports," Vince chuckled, "You preferred to play them."

"Yeah," TJ smirked, "I might come back here, next month or so." Silence again. "I never thanked you. For coming back, for taking me out of there. For refusing to leave me behind."

"You're my friend. I know we're not on even grounds, yet, Teej, but it's a start, right?" TJ smiled, nodding.

"Yeah." They straightened when they saw Mikey, Gus, and Theresa carrying the little baby in her arms, making their ways through the airport. Mikey had a bag in his hand, the rest of his luggage probably on the plane already, like TJ's.

"I never thought we'd all be standing here like this," Gus commented, "Not in a million years."

"I never thought anyone would name their child after Randall," Vince retorted, taking the little girl from her mother's arms gently, "She's very beautiful. If you're lucky, she'll have her mother's looks, and her father's heart."

"And hopefully her _mother's_ courage," TJ threw in. They laughed slightly.

"I never thought I'd be reluctant to get back to New York," Mikey spoke up, "I have to get back to the theatre, but still…um…you all have my contact information, right?"

"Yeah," they all murmured. TJ looked out at the convoluted crowd with a heavy sigh.

"She's not coming," he mumbled.

"It's still early," Mikey reassured him, "Your hearts beat as one, you are soul mates, you…"

"Yeah, that's not really gonna sway her decision," TJ muttered.

-0-0-0-0-

Gretchen knocked lightly on Spinelli's door. There was no answer. She sniffed, pulling her coat around her tightly, tapping her foot.

"I know you're in there," Gretchen finally shouted, "You're mother said you were. You're being stubborn. You're being a stubborn…a stubborn child. To be honest, I don't even really know what you're angry about. So what? Words were exchanged. He broke up with you, but he's apologized, hasn't he? You two are in love, what more is there?" Gretchen shook her head, placing her hands on her hips, "I'm going to the airport. I'm going to wait for fifteen minutes in my car downstairs before leaving. Think things through. Do you really want to give up on love because things have been difficult? Are you, Spinelli, the famed toughest kid of Third Street Elementary, going to run away and cower because your relationship's gotten complicated? Fifteen minutes, Spin. You can come down, and I won't say anything."

Gretchen sighed, leaving.

-0-0-0-0-

TJ stood at the gate, heart pounding in his chest. They were making final calls for seating. He spotted Gretchen through the crowd and they met eyes. She shook her head. He nodded, feeling his heart sink. Mikey patted his shoulder before turning and boarding the plane.

"You tried," Vince said, "We'll see you, then."

"Bye, Teej, Mikey," Gus called. TJ nodded again, turning stiffly before shuffling aboard the plane as well. It was over. She was gone. His relationship with her was over.

It was all over.

* * *

END A/N: IT'S OVER, IT'S OVER! WAAAHHHHHH!!! No more? Not even a little? Nope, this is my last 'END A/N' for this story...it's so sad...I better make this one count. For all of you who have stuck with this story through thick and thin, you all rock! For everyone who's been following it, but hasn't reviewed yet, now's your chance!

I want to thank **TNPD** (who'sbeen there from the beginning),**RavenForever**, **mischief**-**maker**, RT, **xSarah**, goofymonkeychild, **peachesthefirst (MOMO-CHAN!)**, xxxBlueFirePrincessxxx, bob, pixievix, **iluvdanbyrd**, **DarkAngelGaudianLight**, **SteffieWitter96**, Trisk, Adee, weaslypotter, Chris, MagistrixMundi, and me (whoever felt clever and placed this as their name), oh, and CarlyisAwesome. I bolded those I'm especially thankful for, because of their commited reviews. I know some of you died off in the end, and you weren't always constant...but still, thanks! I know I always say, just one little word, just one little review makes me happy, and you all made me happy, because you did just that!

This story wasn't my favorite, but it was the lengthiest, as of yet. I have a feeling the Legend of Bandit is going to be so much longer (it's actually going to be broken down into arcs...four, to be exact, and it takes place over years of time...oi...) It's going to be on a grander scale than this. Oh, and I have to put together In A Box, I don't know where that story's going to take me. So many projects that I have to work on...and this one is over...sniffles...it was my first...no wait, my second...well, my first full-length. In anycase, it's over and done with. It's in the past. Bye-bye.

PLEASE excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and **_REVIEW_** with your requests for a reward fanfic. Nothing having to do with this one though, because I've buried it, it's done with! I am, however, planning on doing a spin-off fanfic for Randall's character entitled Blood Vow (you can read the summary to that one in my bio page as well as that of other upcoming fanfics on my agenda).

THanks for reading, thanks for sticking by me to the end. We held on...it's so emotional...


	36. Epilogue: Return to Third Street

A/N: Okay, so I lied...sort of. It wasn't over. DID YOU GUYS HONESTLY THINK I WOULD END IT THERE???? I just wanted to see how you'd all react...maybe for a good laugh. This is the real ending. There's no more after this, I swear!

This is the music you must listen to when reading this chapter, in this orderThe Freshman, by Vervepipe, and then Perfect by Maren Ord.

Please forgive me and...ENJOY!

* * *

Epilogue: Return to Third Street

-0-0-0-0------Nearly A Month Later ------0-0-0-0-

TJ strummed his fingers lazily upon the long conference table in front of him trying desperately to pay attention as Amanda Winchell and Chief discussed the new article topics for the next issue of High Society Magazine. He watched with disinterest as the eager new writers threw in their opinions and the senior staff preoccupied themselves with the free donuts and coffee while doodling on the paper in front of them. They knew better than to attempt putting out their ideas. The meetings were just formalities, just a way of assuring the employees that they had a creative say in what went in the magazine. Winchell usually walked into those meetings with the whole new issue already planned out in her mind.

TJ himself was lost in his memories of the night before, knowing better than to participate. He had been packing the remainder of Spinelli's things away. Her paints, and various art supplies had gone first. He'd been extremely careful to pack the things with the same care Spinelli would have used, knowing how she loved and cherished those objects. It had been a difficult month, waking up alone, coming home to an empty apartment, the silence. Just sorting through her things livened the severe emotions he'd been forcing down the past few days. He'd thought of crying, but he'd never really been much of a crier. He didn't feel he deserved the gratification of that kind of grievance, as it was his fault everything was so screwed up.

TJ couldn't recall ever feeling so torn from home before. He'd made amends with Gus and Mikey and was beginning to patch things up completely with Gretchen and Vince. Things were almost back to normal, back to the way they'd been those fifteen years before. One would assume that this would make him happier than he'd ever been, but without Spinelli, nothing else seemed to really matter.

"Ted…Mr. Dettweiler," Winchell screeched and TJ nearly jumped from his seat in surprise.

"Oh…me…" he mumbled, which caused laughter to erupt from all corners of the conference room.

"Did you have any input?" Winchell asked, rather snidely.

"No, ma'am."

"Right. Well, I had assumed with your _literary__ promise_," she spat the words with an almost mocking air, "You might have some idea or input; but perhaps I was mistaken on your creativity levels. I apologize…." She began droning on again, about how many limbs she'd gone out on for TJ, how she was always giving him the best opportunities, and was it really too much to ask that he pay a slight amount of attention at the mandatory meeting and show a bit of interest in the future of the magazine.

Winchell was picking on TJ, of course, as he did more often than not prove to be the most talented of the writers in that room. She had to put him down, never let him know how good he was and how important to the magazine or risk losing him. _That bitch_.

TJ smirked slightly, reminded once more of his lost lover. Spinelli had a way of always making him feel better about his job and than turning around and making him feel worse.

Five weeks ago, TJ wouldn't have cared that Winchell had pointed him out and was now bullying him as only a boss could. At least, Ted wouldn't have. Good ol' Ted would sit in silence taking the abuse; nodding patiently and bottling up those frustrations only to take them out on a trashcan or wall or some other inanimate object on his way home. Yes, that's what Ted would do. But that time was gone now.

TJ could feel the red cap he'd unconsciously been carrying with him everywhere now conveniently shoved in his back pocket. Yes, good ol' Ted would never have done anything to stifle the old bag Winchell. But sitting there listening to the demeaning things Winchell had to say buzz in the background, the young man didn't feel like good ol' Ted.

"I quit." More like good ol' TJ.

"And further more…excuse me?" Winchell sputtered and a dead silence fell about the room. He hadn't realized he'd said those words aloud until that moment.

"He's joking," Chief chuckled, glowering menacingly at TJ, "Right?"

"No," TJ pulled himself up from his chair, a renewed sense of pride rising within him, flushing his cheeks, "I quit." There were so many more important things he needed to be doing. "I quit," he repeated more firmly. There were so many things he wanted to do but had lost the nerve so long ago.

"You can't quit," Winchell argued, though the words sounded flimsy.

"I just did," TJ shrugged gathering up his things and making his way to the door, "I'm sorry, but I can't work here anymore."

"What'll you do?" Chief called after him and TJ paused, saddened for the man who watched TJ with envy. Chief had never gathered the courage to do what TJ had just done. A boyish grin found it's way across the young man's face as he slipped his red cap from his back pocket to the top of his head.

"Don't worry 'bout me Chief," he assured the older man, the cheekiness from his childhood easily returning to his voice, "I've got a plan. Now, if you don't mind, I have a plane to catch."

Without a chance for another protest, TJ was out the door and sidled up behind the kind personal assistant of Winchell and hung up the phone on her.

"Hey," she cried. TJ smiled, shrugging.

"Sorry," he told her, "I'm kind of short on time." He took the phone, dialing in a number he'd only recently memorized and cried in the phone when it was answered, "Mikey!…You're not Mikey?…Mikey Blumberg…Who's Mick?…Yes, yes, him. Put him on the phone!…What do you mean he's on stage now? Get him; tell him it's important. Tell him TJ's on the phone…he'll come…What? Tell him it's an emergency! No, no, wait; tell him it's a matter of the heart. Do it! He'll come…"

TJ only had to wait a moment before a breathless voice gasped excitedly into the phone; "You're getting Spinelli back!"

"I'm getting Spinelli back," TJ confirmed, "If all goes according to plan."

"She _is_ your true love!" Mikey exclaimed, "But why are you calling me?"

"I need your help…I have a plan…now, pay attention…"

-0-0-0-0-

As TJ ran from the building he heard the secretary call after him, "Go get her, stud," and he felt his heart catch. He considered praying, but something told him it was all up to Spinelli and no amount of supernatural intervention would alter _her_ decision. He ran most of the way to the airport and found Mikey waiting at the gate. Out of breath, TJ snatched the ticket from the lumbering youth's eager hand and both of them boarded the plane.

"I called Gretchen, everything's in motion," Mikey told TJ.

"Where are you going?" TJ looked questioningly at him.

"To support you, of course. Ah, dear TJ races to meet his Juliet," Mikey cried theatrically, gaining the attention of most everyone on the plane, "But will their love end with such undue tragedy?"

"Mikey…" TJ groaned, buckling his seatbelt and waiting anxiously for take-off.

"What do you plan to do?" Mikey asked.

'The only thing I can do," TJ shrugged distractedly, "Talk to her, tell her how I feel, if all else fails, beg."

"Ah, like a true man in love," Mikey smiled, patting his friend's shoulder.

-0-0-0-0-

Spinelli kicked at the sand beneath the jungle gym. She shielded her eyes from the sun and looked up to the clock on the school building.

"Gretchen's late," she mumbled unhappily, readjusting her bra beneath the spaghetti strap of her tank top. It was hot out that day; but not as hot as she knew it could get. She'd tied her hair back in a ponytail, but now the tip kept brushing against her neck and it was driving her crazy.

Spinelli was beginning to regret agreeing to meet Gretchen, Gus, and Vince at the school. She shook her head and ran her fingers along her burning skin, warm to the touch, slumping into one of the swings she smiled at her feet dragging along the sand.

"Just come to the school," Gretchen had prodded on the phone the night before.

"What for Grundler?" There was still a deep animosity between the two, but Spinelli needed the other young woman for a kind of support that Vince and Gus could not provide. It was helping their relationship to some extent, but they still needed to actually talk about their problems.

"There's a few things we have to take care of pertaining to…you know what."

Truthfully, Spinelli's first reaction was to run, to go nowhere near the school, and to turn down Gretchen's 'invitation' vehemently. But she couldn't do that to the others. So, that was why she sat there, impatiently stirring up dust storms in the sand.

With a sigh, Spinelli pumped her legs sailing through the air and feeling tear drops fall and stain her jeans. For the past month, TJ had been sending her things to the Spinelli residence. With the first packages, her clothes mostly, had come a note to Flo and Bob, because "I know she won't want to hear from me." He'd explained in the letter that he wanted to save Spinelli from having to come out to New York and get her things herself, that he wanted it to be easier on her. But he was taking his time shipping her things and she thought at first he was slacking or maybe even changed his mind and wanted her to come back to New York to get the rest. It was Gretchen who pointed out how hard it probably was for TJ to pack the stuff and how confirming it was, Spinelli's things no longer in the apartment. It made the split more realistic.

Another package had arrived the night before, after Gretchen had called. Spinelli had sat tracing the words written on the box by TJ with her finger; trembling and fighting futilely against the sobs rising within her. Flo, wanting to cheer her daughter up, had set Spinelli up on a date with a young man. Conveniently forgetting to tell Spienlli about it until the man, a twenty-nine year old manager of the local grocery mart, stood on their front porch. Needless to say, it didn't cheer Spinelli up. She'd been going through her things moments before he'd come and found one of TJ's shirt mixed in with her own clothes. It still smelled like him. So, of course, she was bawling her eyes out when the man arrived. It wasn't a pretty picture.

"Damn it, Gretch," Spinelli snapped, jumping from the swing upon hearing footfalls along the pavement, "You're late," she started, as she spun on the newcomer, but fell short, her words catching in her throat.

"Hey," TJ greeted nervously, standing awkwardly before her, straightening his cap.

"What do you want?"

"You know, I was in the neighborhood…" he joked, but found himself frowning at his feet, "I want you back."

"It's a nice sentiment, Teej, but you should have thought about that before…"

"I know I screwed up but…"

"But nothing! This is more than screwing up, and you know that…" Spinelli shook her head, turning to leave, "It doesn't matter…"

"Wait, alright, please. I know what I did was wrong, and I don't deserve to be forgiven."

"This is the very thing that's pissing me off," Spinelli snapped, turning back to him, "Something Gretchen said made me realize, I'm not mad about what you did. Why should I be mad? We weren't together at the time, right? Teej, I'm tired, and I'm sick of wondering where I stand with you. I'm tired of feeling that sometimes…sometimes…you want something else…and it's not like you're making any effort to change that! You ain't the person I fell in love with, Teej, not anymore…you're just some facsimile of him…"

"Spinelli…"

"No, I'm done with this, alright. The guy I loved wouldn't stand there and beg for something, and snivel about how he doesn't deserve to be forgiven…the guy I loved would always have some plan to get what he wanted that didn't involve losing his dignity. Teej, you used to know what you wanted, you used to know you were better than…than this. I've got to go."

"Hey, who's out there?" Spinelli and TJ turned their heads as the elderly man made his way out. He was dressed in a regular brown suit, now more gray hairs than brown. But the face was one that held prominence in their childhood memories. For a short moment, he blinked at them, and they blinked back.

"Principle Prickly, sir," TJ gulped, speaking up first, "I know we're trespassing…" Slowly, a smile slid across the man's mustached mouth.

"Miss Finster, you were right, it is a bunch of hooligans. Everyone, get out here!" Prickly called into the school, and before there could be any protest, the playground filled with familiar elder faces and some new ones. Finster, a heavy cane clutched in her hand, limped forward followed by a gentle faced, middle-aged dark haired, dark skinned woman, who was none other than Miss Grotke.

"Grundler, LaSalle, Blumberg, Griswold? Get out of that bush!" Finster screeched to a green shrub and the four young men and woman rose to their feet, receiving a look of pure anger from Spinelli and confusion from TJ.

"My word, children, what are you all doing here?" Miss Grotke asked.

"We were…well…we're talking…" TJ explained sheepishly.

"_Were_ talking," Spinelli stated scathingly, "I'm leaving."

"Spin…" TJ attempted, he chewed the inside of his cheek, searching for the words to call her back, "If that's how you feel…" he mumbled, his heart pounding in his chest, eyes searching the blacktop for answers, "Then just marry me."

"_What_?" Spinelli spat, stopping.

"Oh my…" Miss Grotke stuttered.

"What in the blazes in going on here?" Finster questioned.

"Are you kidding me?" Spinelli reeled on TJ once more, "You don't go from being someone I'm hugely pissed at to proposing to me! It doesn't work that way?"

"Why not?" TJ asked, the idea sounding better and better as he thought about it, "I mean…you love me, I love you. You said you feel you don't know where you stand with me, well here it is. You're the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I can't really afford to buy you a ring yet…because I kind of quit my job…" Spinelli crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at him. He couldn't possibly be serious. But there he stood, on that playground they'd rampaged years before, wearing that red cap, and smirking somewhat cockily. He'd rushed there from New York, tricked her into meeting him on that spot, and proposed to her. All that was missing was an armful of roses, thousands of white doves, and a cheesy orchestra playing in the background.

"We have a lot of talking to do," she told him evenly, and he lowered his eyes slightly.

"Yeah…" he mumbled. A smile slipped along her lips.

"But I guess we have plenty of time…weddings do take a while to plan, don't they?" she said. He looked up, met her eyes questioningly as she stepped forward, "What do you have to say to that? Huh?"

"Only one thing to say," he whispered, a grin brightening his face as he lifted her chin and drew her in for a kiss, "Tender."

"Well," Prickly chuckled, taking the attention away from the two lovers, "I can't say I'm surprised. I knew those kids were meant for each other since they first met in…what was it now?"

"Kindergarten," Finster supplied.

"Yes, and I hadn't a moments peace since then," Prickly laughed reminiscently, "They were a perfect pair…partners in crime. They were the two biggest troublemakers in the history of this playground. I can only say, I found it was only a matter of time before…"

"Cough up the cash," Miss Finster interrupted, holding out her hand. The gang perked at this, looking a bit confused at the faculty. Principle Prickly growled softly, reaching into his wallet and handing over a few green bills into Finster's greedy outstretched palm.

"Ridiculous, I tell you," Prickly muttered, "I could have sworn that Grundler was a shoe-in for Dettwieler…"

"What are you talking about?" Finster chuckled as other faculty members placed their own money into her hand, "My girl's the only thing Dettwieler's ever been able to see, ever since she socked him in second grade!"

"Um…" Gretchen cleared her throat, as she and the others had been watching the exchange, "Miss Grotke…did they…did the teachers bet on us?"

"I must admit Gretchen, I am a slight bit appalled that my collegues would…" Miss Grotke started when Finster nudged her slightly, "More along the lines of…uh…betting on whom TJ would fall in love with."

"Hand over the two large," Finster snarled, "And don't think that prim hoity-toity attitude will get you out of it."

"Sorry, kids," Grotke chuckled, "But the odds of TJ following an alternative lifestyle were too high to pass up…"

"Hey, you guys want to take a tour of your old alma mater?" Principle Prickly inquired, "It's all cleaned up, spruced and ready for the new school year."

"Sounds good to me," Vince conceded.

"Certainly," Gretchen nodded, then turning to briefly glance at TJ and Spinelli still kissing, "I think _they're_ a little busy now…"

"Right," Prickly chuckled, "We'll take the tour without them, then catch up in the teachers' lounge. This way…"

-0-0-0-0-

"Hush little baby, don't say a word…mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird…" a shaky voice sang through the dark of the old Third Street Lake boathouse. A young woman sat on a chair, rocking back and forth, her hand lying atop her slightly bulged stomach. She paused in her singing, "Hush, don't worry little one," she cooed softly, "Daddy will come back soon…" She pushed a strand of her dark black hair behind her ear; it seemed a contradiction against her pale skin. She touched the charm on the cheaply made pewter necklace dangling from her collar. She was wearing a cotton dress, barefoot, "That's right…daddy will be back real soon…"

* * *

END A/N: Do I smell a sequel? Maybe. If I choose to write one. No one's given me suggestions for a one-shot fic? WHAT DO YOU GUYS WANT TO READ? I know...more of my other ff's....heheh... 

This is it, the end...for reals this time. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Or is it?


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